


End of Our Days

by veep39



Series: Starless [1]
Category: Underworld (Movies)
Genre: Epic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-25
Updated: 2006-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 08:43:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 85,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veep39/pseuds/veep39
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How does Amelia's coven react to her death? Can they forgive and forget? Amelia's daughter inherits more than she bargained for. A Post-UE fanfic for long attention spans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_Mae,*_

_I'm frozen in a permanent howl. My phone rings next to me, but nobody is important. I soar above you somewhere, but I don't know where you are. Flames light up the horizon, throwing the nighttime skyline of Budapest into stark shadow._

_Is this the penalty for our quarrels? Is it your penalty for your quarrels? These quarrels that divide? Is what has been parted never to be reunited? Was there too much energy? Have we grown so incompatible in such a short time?_

_I carried you home as you'd carried me home a century ago. You conceived me in days of old and then I slept with you, in utero, in the womb of the mansion, now aflame. What has happened to us? Our bodies and minds, once united, became separated upon my birth. It hasn't been the same since._

_You held me and nurtured me, but in time I grew apart from you. I had to find my own way. You didn't approve of my way, but you still loved me. I didn't want your advice or your wisdom, but I still loved you. This love would have been for all time. We had all the time in the world to grow comfortable with each other. But wait, but wait, I now want to tell you something before you die..._

_I'm trapped in a cycle of horror. I relive the moment I learned of your death with each inward breath. My very living reminds me of consequences. May your memory protect me from the lycans of my mind._

_I thought I was high above you and didn't need you. You didn't need me and we parted, as agreed. One awake, two asleep, that's the way of it, you said. The great machines of this modern age are my tools and toys, because, yes, I am of this age. This is the age I was born in and I feel its throb beneath my feet. I circle above you now; you are somewhere below, perhaps in the flames. I'm ready to come down now, and accept the consequences. I'll claim my legacy, such as it is. The responsibility is mine now. I'm opening the connection._

_\-- Léna_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "Mae" is Portuguese for Mother
> 
> Originally published to Unnatural Selection on 8.25.2006; rewritten and updated (1) 7.30.2007; rewritten and updated (2) 9.5.2010; posted to AO3 on 2.23.2013.


	2. Days of Old

**_One night ago..._**  
  
 _Dead and yet not dead._ Léna blinked the mental image away that had stolen, unbidden, into her thoughts, as if her mind refused to yield to her mother's impending 200-year sleep. Two nights ago, she'd stood with her mother on the tarmac in Athens, as they said their goodbyes. _"Think of me, mother,"_ was the last thing she'd said. The words echoed back and she realized she'd just spoken the words again, aloud, to the mirror. The mental image of her mother departed at the sound, leaving her to look once again at her own. She focused on her own eyes to ward off the memory that would not sleep, and then looked downward. Her fingers, which had been resting on the cold water faucet during her reverie, turned. _Of course she can't think of me. She'll be asleep._

 _Am I destined to suffer this distraction for the next 200 years, along with my dreams of lycans?_ she wondered. Her fingers dipped in the harsh, cold liquid, distributing it around the sink to wash away the vomit – the evidence. Social occasions usually resulted in this – the perforce imbibing of mortal spirits and then expelling them at an opportune and discreet time. _The things we do._ Mortal drink and vampire bodies were as immiscible as their races. A vampire could wipe away the mortality of a human, or accelerate it. What liquor was there that could wash away a sense of regret?

As she toweled off her fingers, she and her image looked to her left, idly considering the companions she'd just excused herself from. She found that she needed something to rinse the taste of stomach fluid and alcohol from her mouth. Any one of them, especially of the loosened ties and glazed eyes, would be suitable. It would be two for the price of one – a somewhat satisfying tumble in the sheets and instant breakfast. She'd never tasted mortal blood from the source – likely nobody would ever know. _No._ She would only take their money, thank you. She would remain faithful to Rodrigo and to the covenant.

She snatched up her shoulder bag and retrieved a small packet of blood. _"Not for mortal use,"_ it stated clearly on the label. She took a swig, swished it in her mouth, and swallowed. The convulsions in her stomach eased. Thus medicated and the quiet time ended, she considered other things.

The deal had been finalized and it was over. She'd been trying to crack the overseas market for some time, and her efforts had just borne fruit. She'd used the occasion of shuttling her mother to Hungary to drop in on her clients for a meet-and-greet. They'd been pleased to see her sign the contract, though small, in person. Through continued efforts by her and the company's marketing team, this small contract would lead to a larger, permanent, and productive relationship. Details yet to be worked out would be handed over to her attorneys and assistants. Her next task of substance: setting about marshaling the resources to meet her company's commitments in the new contract. The fleet would have to be expanded.

She reapplied lipstick and ran a comb through her hair. _Acceptable._ She exited the women's lounge to take her leave of her clients. Many remained, waiting for her. The Danes said their goodbyes with handshakes, a handful of tasteful hugs, a couple lingering looks, and one proposition – fortunately from a mid-level employee and not the person who signed contracts. As in all things, there was a cost of doing business to be considered – she'd been battle-hardened by the notorious Brazilian government bureaucracy. She sought any advantage in the game of business, of life. She played it her way. Her mother, so serious, thought otherwise.

In the midst of the hubbub, she noticed a familiar figure, thin in physique, thin in hair, and thin in pigment, near the exit. She glanced his way and received the briefest nod in return. Laudro, her assistant, schedule keeper, and organizer took care of her well. She hoisted her shoulder bag, gave a final wave to her new friends, and made for the exit, collecting Laudro on the way out.

"Are we good?" he asked in Portuguese.

"We are very good, my dear Laudro," Léna said with a grin. "We hit it off, as you can see, and they shall like doing business with us."

Laudro grinned back and pressed the elevator "up" button. "It must be the suit you're wearing."

"Impressive?"

He grinned again and said, "Think 'stealth fighter'. Your mother would be proud."

Léna took a deep breath and blew it out. The elevator car came. As the car doors shut in front of them, she said to their reflection in the inside door, "Thank you, Laudro. My mother will not recognize this world when she comes back." She put her hand on her stomach, still feeling the aftereffects of the abuse that she'd inflicted on it.

Laudro's reflected mouth continued to grin.

 _Mother. The coven._ Léna and her company were all too happy to take mortals' money. The vampires instinctively increased wealth and strength in order to survive and be secure in the world. The commands of the Elders, including her very own mother, bred and reinforced the survival mechanism. Their strength and number increased amongst the mortals of the world, however their accomplishments in the world of mortals went largely unremarked. The coven wanted it that way; the power that had been built over the centuries, in order to perpetuate the coven, could not overcome entrenched paranoia.

These things Léna strove not dwell on while business beckoned. Like many of her thoughts, she analyzed, categorized, and then filed them for later reference. Vampires who interacted with mortals in the world developed the necessary skills to do so. Not every vampire could play in the world of the mortals – her mother had long ago severed her links with the mortals, preferring instead to hold council with her accumulated library of memory in each waking moment. Her mother acted when the occasion called for it, but by and large she spent her days contemplating the place of vampires in the universe. Léna had other ideas and pursued them, to her mother's frequent displeasure.

Rarely had her mother left the compound, which had made their parting at Athens International something to behold. Afterward, she and two Councilors and their baggage had squeezed into two rental cars and made for the train station, shadowed by Léna's mortals. Her mother refused armed escort, but she had no control over Léna's employees, who surreptitiously followed the maddening, looping, languorous path that she took through Macedonia, Serbia, and then, finally, into Hungary.

  
\--0--  
  
  
Léna relaxed on the balcony of her hotel room with her feet up, taking in the sights and sounds of a night-time Copenhagen street below. She'd shed her jacket and shoes and left them on the bed and the floor. Save for the occasional cigarette smoker, she had the balconies to herself. The climate was quite a contrast to what she'd left just days ago – still comfortable for a vampire but chilly to a mortal.

She checked her watch. _Hatvan. Polgár's death dealers would have taken up their duties on the train by now._ Just after midnight, she gave in to the urge and picked up her satellite phone that sat on the glass-topped table next to her. She dialed Budapest.

"Good Morning, Lord Polgár," she said in Magyar to the masculine voice who answered. "Léna," she added, announcing herself.

"Lady Léna – good to hear from you," replied Polgár.

She ignored the honorific, long disavowed. "How is the party?" she asked, detecting a slight unease in his voice.

"The guest of honor has yet to arrive – we expected her some time ago. Perhaps they've stopped somewhere to take on passengers or they've been boarded by the authorities. You know how they do things when they have nothing else better to do."

"I see. It's business as usual in Hungary, huh?"

"It wouldn't surprise me."

"Can you do me a favor? See if you can discreetly track them down?" Léna asked.

"I'll look into it."

"Do your men on the train have satellite phones or mobile?"

"We gave them cells. Coverage is spotty in parts of the country, however. So, even if they were delayed, they might not necessarily be able to call in to let us know."

"Understood. At any rate, please give me a call once she's been interred."

"I'll do that. How is your trip?"

"Very productive."

"Lord Madarász and Lord Nikolaus wouldn't disagree with you and, in fact, after their conference call with you they expressed interest in exploring other opportunities."

"Good – it's good to see that the covens can expand their partnership," she replied, grinning to herself.

"Will we be seeing you? I'd love to put a face with the name."

"Perhaps – I'll stop in briefly to meet with the Lords in person and then collect Dmitri."

"Good, then. Good Morning, Léna. We'll be in touch."

Léna still felt vaguely anxious, but the conversation with Lord Polgár eased her mind just enough that she resisted trying to call the train directly. She did not want the final words between herself and her mother to be an argument about why she was bothering her mother.

She placed another call – this time getting Dmitri on his satellite phone.

"Hello, Léna," he answered in Portuguese.

"Lord Polgár tells me that my mother is creating some suspense."

"Yes. We did see a group leave here, so maybe they'll be picked up shortly."

"Have you been behaving yourself?"

"I think so. I haven't worn out my welcome yet, at least."

"That's good. I'm sorry I can't be there."

"I'm not sure you'd want to be here. This is a quiet party – but I can see why vampires would want to be here. Power, money, and blood – it's all here. Aside from a dustup with the lycans two nights ago and the coven master locking up one of the death dealers for insubordination, it's been positively sedate."

 _That was the night I dropped him off in Budapest_ , she thought. "Was that a _routine_ dustup?"

"Lord Kraven is unconcerned. It caused a bit of chatter, but it's died down – kind of like this party."

"Why don't you liven it up, then?"

"You know, I think we ought to move the crypt to São Paulo. We'll throw a real party over there. We'll hold the awakening during Carnivale and sell tickets."

"Seriously, Dmitri, I feel like I should be there with you. I should've crashed it."

"No, you're making money for the coven – you're better where you are. If you were here, you'd wish you were there – trust me."

They said their goodbyes and closed the connection. She continued to think about Dmitri as she set the phone back down on the table with a soft clank. Memories seemed to have been stimulated in her of late. Ordinarily he worked as a salesrep for Ziodex. His company leased her company's corporate jets for business travel. They shared marketing stories when they got together. He'd recently been drafted as her mother's impromptu, honorary envoy to Budapest prior to the awakening. A courtesy visit between great houses, though not unheard of, became a significant undertaking once the covens divided. Besides, Lord Kraven had seen fit to send an emissary to Brazil, so her mother had felt obligated to return the gesture. Dmitri had confided in her during the flight over the Atlantic that he'd been given little guidance by her mother on what to say to the Hungarians. Léna had told him to just simply say what the Budapest coven wanted to hear. "Put on your marketing face," she'd said to him. "Then make the acquaintance of Lord Marcus and then we'll return home." Her dismissive comments seemed inappropriate now and she regretted some of the banter that she'd exchanged with Dmitri. While in the land of her ancestors, she thought she should be more serious than she was ordinarily wont.

Léna's satellite phone chirped, interrupting her latest reverie. A friendly female voice answered her on the other side.

"Hi, Treva," Léna said.

"Are you having fun yet?"

Léna winced in response to her unserious friend. "Not sure. I was just now trying to track down my mother."

"She would be touched. When are they burying her?"

"Tonight, but I don't know when. I wasn't invited, remember?"

"And it's not like you can get revenge on her by not inviting her to your funeral."

"I've got calls in to Dmitri and Lord Polgár to let me know the minute she's asleep."

"Let me know, too. I don't like the sound of your voice. You're not relaxed – you need to get to a club," cooed Treva.

"I was just in the company of drunk mortals. What I need now is to find a fronton."

"You need to find a nice Hungarian vampire noble to make you happy."

"My mother would wake up 200 years from now and wish that she hadn't," replied Léna with a breath for a laugh. If there was one thing that she and her mother agreed on, it was a healthy disdain for nobles. Two covens existed because of it.

"Hang in there. It'll be done and you can relax. Get some sleep, grab Dmitri, and get back here so we can have some more fun."

"I hear you. But I think I may linger a night and explore the countryside. Maybe I can talk Dmitri and Laudro into it."

"What do you want to do that for? You've never showed any interest before. Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'd like to see some of the things my mother saw when she last reigned there. She never discussed the "Days of Old" much, as she called it."

"How is Laudro holding up?"

"He's doing well – I've got him toiling away in his hotel room." Then she had a thought - perhaps the succession of the Elders might loosen a tongue. "You know, perhaps I should pay Lord Marcus a courtesy visit myself."

"Wouldn't that be a little uncomfortable for him?"

"You mean having just succeeded Lady Amelia and then having to say 'hello' to Amelia's daughter?" Léna asked, playfully.

"Actually I was thinking of the memory of giving birth to you," said Treva, chuckling on the other end of the world. Léna was glad she'd called. Only Treva could make a joke out of the merged memories of the Elders. Her contemplative mood, however, dismissed thoughts of play. Truth be told, Léna wondered if she might see her mother's eyes should she make a pilgrimage to bow before Lord Marcus. After all, he would know her intimately and it was only fair that she know him as well. She shared something with the future Lord Marcus: her mother gave them both life.

  
\--0--  
  
  
Léna awoke with a start. She'd evidently dozed off on the balcony, she realized. If she hadn't left the door to the balcony cracked, she might not have heard whoever it was who knocked insistently at her hotel room door. She checked her watch: 0215.

She opened the door and saw Laudro standing in the hallway. "Jet lag siesta?" he said in a tone somewhere between amazement and amusement.

"Must have been. I fell asleep on the balcony."

"Be careful, My Lady. We're in Europe and so are the lycans."

"I'll have to tell you about my dreams, sometime."

"Pardon?" he said.

"What do you want, Laudro?"

"I've found something for us to do until sunrise. But I don't want to take you away from your beauty sleep."

"Oh no. I'm quite refreshed. Wouldn't you rather work?"

Laudro held up a brochure in front of her face.

"What's this?" she asked through a yawn.

"Boat ride on the Nyhavn. Let's go."

"Let me change into something else. Oh, come in."

Léna changed into a less-formal skirt and left her shirttail out. They put on coats, even though they didn't need them. For this evening, they would be just another romantic couple on the water, attracting as little notice as possible.

"Don't get any ideas," said Léna, as Laudro put his arm around her on the boat.

"Well, I do have ideas, but I daren't tell you about them."

Léna turned sideways and gave him a look. "How is this different than me sitting on the balcony?" She knew that lycans who might come upon them, should they even be in this city, would make short work of them. She'd never encountered them in her life, but knew enough about them that she treated them with respect – at least in her dreams.

"How do you mean?"

"We're still exposed to the lycans."

"This is different. I'm protecting you."

 _You think so?_ Léna gave him another look. "Convenient," she said in jest and then gazed upward. The full moon and its reflected twin gazed at her like giant, lycan white irises, keeping her on edge for the entire cruise. She and the moon's reflection floated on a dread current from a source that she couldn't place. She closed her eyes then, to ward off the stare that she couldn't return, and gave in instead to the sensation of gentle rocking and the arm about her.


	3. Ashes to Ashes

_My Dear Amelia,_  
  
 _Your body has been violated and we have been violated. The chain has been broken, irrevocably – the blood memory that was destined for Lord Marcus has been stolen from us. The unity that we were to have has been taken from us._  
  
 _The rule has been violated, and once again I am called upon to make things right. We cannot survive unless there is law. You, Council, all are dead, therefore I am now the law. Do not worry, I am here._  
  
 _There will be no other like you, My Amelia. You moderated us – we three, brothers and sister. You bore witness to us. I shared my secrets with you and you kept confidences. I would mourn you, but there is business to attend to. So much will be missed without the transfer of memory. We shared memories for so many years. I prepared the way for you. I prepared castles for you, so that the repository for my memory would have only the best._  
  
 _This last time, though, you struck out on your own, with my blessing, because you wished it. I now see that it was a mistake._  
  
 _The little girls need me to guide them – you have been important to me. I take sword in hand, now, to re-order things. I will now see to my little one, so she does not go astray._  
  
 _\-- Viktor_  
  
  
\--0--  
  
  
Léna awoke the following late afternoon to pitch darkness. She pressed a button on her watch to light it up and checked it – 1600 local time, just a half hour before the alarm set time. The small splash of light illuminated her surroundings in faint fluorescent green. As she'd done within many small hotel rooms, just before dawn she'd drawn the window curtains and hauled the mattress onto the cramped bathroom floor to sleep out the day. She'd stuffed a towel between the door and the floor to seal out remaining, leaking sunlight to complete the barricade. Laudro preferred a different sort of discomfort – curling up in a shower stall or a tub, coffin-like.

As she'd slept, she'd dreamt of lycans – the same that perpetually clamored up the stairwell toward her penthouse apartment in São Paulo. She'd even given them names. As she recalled the dream, the crawling sense of unease that she'd experienced half a night ago returned – not because the lycans had revisited her dreamscape, but because she had received no phone calls or messages since she'd signed off from Treva in the early morning.

She flipped open her satellite phone which further illuminated the bathroom. She got up to a sitting position on the mattress and rested the back of her head against the vanity. She dialed Laudro in his own makeshift bedchamber next door.

"Yes?" he answered.

"Have you received any phone calls?"

"Yes – tons. Folks back home who won't leave me alone. You?"

"None. How about from Hungary?"

"No. I..."

She hung up on him. She tried Lord Polgár and received no response. She tried Lord Polgár's mansion, but was told that he had not arrived home – she should try his cellular phone, she was told. She tried Polgár's cell again, but there was still no response. She didn't know this Lord Polgár that well, and so did not know how reliable he was and whether a promise to call was something she could reasonably expect to be true. She felt, however, that the disposition of her mother was of such importance that she would be given the courtesy of a phone call as she had requested. Her heart rate and blood pressure rose as she considered the slight.

She punched Dmitri's satellite number – amazingly there was no response there, either. _Perhaps he's lost his charge and his charger didn't fit the plugs at Ordogház?_ She left a message to please call. Her mind cycled through different scenarios and excuses why her contacts would suddenly go dead. She punched the number she'd been given for her mother's cell phone during the train journey across Hungary – the call dropped into a generic phone mail box. She almost hung up, but instead left a message, saying, "Hello – if anybody gets this message, please call me at the number displayed. Thank you." She cut the connection and pressed the phone to her forehead. _Fabulous! Trapped in a bathroom in Copenhagen and can't get anywhere._ Her blood pressure continued to increase with her irritation. She flicked on the light and prepared to take a shower. She glanced in the mirror – her hazel eyes had changed color in her worried state. Her mouth turned downward in the corners in concern. Her stomach ached from hunger. She powered up the remote photometer display and squinted at the numbers scrolling down, providing her with the only concrete answers she had on anything.

As soon as the sun's receding rays became tolerable, she exited the hotel with Laudro in tow and headed directly to the airport. She avoided his concerned stares, knowing that to concede would irritate her further. _It must be the departure of my mother that's affecting me,_ she thought, acknowledging her uncharacteristic anxiousness. She tried a new number as the Gulfstream taxied down to a runway. She needed to talk to _somebody_ who could give her answers.

A voice answered – a segurança from her company. "Colarossi." _Finally!_

"Agent Colarossi. This is Léna," she said, talking between sips of blood from a straw.

"Hello, Lady Léna. What can we do for you?"

"I want you to get to Budapest. Where are you?"

"We're an hour outside of Skopje."

"Have you by any chance heard from Lord Polgár lately?"

"No. The last we heard from him was when his death dealers arrived and joined up with Lady Amelia."

"Did they have any stops before reaching Budapest?"

"I'm not sure. Hold on," he added, and then she heard a muffled conversation – Colarossi had palmed his phone while consulting with his comrades. "One of my friends here says they were stopping to pick up a Councilor on the way."

"Huszár, right?" she asked.

"That sounds right, yes."

"Do you have contact numbers for any of the other vampire houses in Hungary?"

"No, ma'am. Just Polgár's mobile."

"Right – keep dialing that number. If you get somebody to pick up, I want to talk to them. Patch them through to me, got it?"

"Got it."

"In the meantime, I want you to turn around and drive to Budapest and see what's up at that mansion. I'm on my way there, myself. Probably will beat you, as a matter of fact."

"What's going on?"

"I don't know. It's gotten really quiet there."

"Where are you?"

Léna groaned. "Copenhagen! Now we're airborne. Copenhagen is below us now. Just keep trying that number."

Léna sat in the conference area of the Gulfstream, dialing as they flew. She retrieved her Palm and began going down the list – she dialed the switchboard at Ordogház, next. Not thinking clearly, she realized, she dialed agents, rather than going to the source: the mansion itself, the center of activity and her mother's destination. Again, nothing. She jotted the number down and passed it to Laudro. "This number. I want you to dial it from now until we touch down in Budapest – if anybody, and I mean _anybody_ picks up, I want to talk to them."

"Yes, ma'am."

She got up and went to the cockpit. "Captain, punch it – if we break a law getting there, I'll take responsibility. But I want you to move this plane as fast as you can to Budapest."

She returned to the conference area and sagged down into one of the chairs, leaned back, and closed her eyes... but just for a moment. She dialed the company through which they'd chartered the train. No luck – she only obtained a promise that they would check and call back. _I don't want to do this,_ she thought, and then reluctantly dialed yet another number – this time, to São Paulo.

Lord Dömötör picked up so quickly that Léna actually startled. She cursed herself for having to make the call, but was at the same time gratified that she'd made contact with somebody who could get something done in the coven. Being her mother's regent, he deserved to know if something was amiss. She'd happily taken on the role of shepherding her mother to Europe for her appointment at Ordogház. She was most chagrined, though, that she'd appeared to have suddenly become inattentive.

"Boa noite, Léna," he said, pleasantly enough in accented Portuguese. His first language was Magyar, but a dialect that not many spoke in these times.

"Lord, I unfortunately need your help. I've not been able to talk to anybody inside Ordogház for the better part of a day."

"Neither have we."

Léna glared at the deck of her aircraft and blurted out, "When were you planning to tell me?"

"We were thinking it was just a communication problem – it's quite a long way to where you are."

"It's ironic that I can call halfway around the world, from the air might I add, and talk to you just fine, but I can't raise anybody with any answers in Hungary. Nobody's answering. Not Polgár, not Dmitri, not anybody. I got a hold of our agent who is in, I don't know – Macedonia, and I've diverted him to Budapest to find out what the hell is going on."

"Léna, it's no use to panic. I'm sure everything is fine."

"I'm not panicking! I can't even reach Dmitri. I'm supposed to pick him up. He's got a satellite."

Silence deepened on the other side.

"Can you please start working the phones – no, I want you to get on the phone and find some vampires for me to talk to," she continued. _Poor Laudro's finger is wearing out._

"Léna, there's no need to take that tone. I..."

"You're her regent – you're supposed to look out for her interests – shall I do it for you? Send me the numbers and I'll call them!"

"Léna – all right, we'll start calling some of the nobles. I'll give you a call back if we find anybody who knows if anything has happened."

" _Thanks!_ " she said sarcastically, and snapped the connection closed. She dropped the phone on the deck and put her head in her hands. A short distance away, Laudro punched futilely at his own phone.

  
\--0--  
  
  
Two hours later, they entered darkened Hungarian airspace and in short order made for the nocturnal glow of Budapest. The cluster of lights gradually grew brighter and organized itself into grids and whorls of avenues, looking like a fingerprint from God. A ragged, irregular glow, surrounded by other flickering lights, stood out in the northwestern outskirts of the shimmering island.

The stress of not knowing settled within her like an immense stone, putting a drag on her thoughts and movements. She wished she could will the craft to land, _now_ , so she could be on her way. Ill news about her mother would be preferable to the torture of not knowing. Léna found herself gripping the edge of the table as she wondered what had possibly gone wrong. Though in the airspace of her ancestors, she felt like a foreigner, compounding her sense of helplessness. The silence from São Paulo didn't help. Lord Dömötör would've called by now, she thought, had he good news to offer. Her eyes fell on the irregularly glowing patch of light on the edge of Budapest that didn't seem to belong and decided it was a fire of some sort.

"Laudro," she suddenly said. "Would you hand me that remote?"

He tossed it to her and she turned on the television in the corner of the cabin. She surfed through the channels and eventually found one that showed live coverage of what she assumed was the fire. Interspersed with the fire footage played a brief video clip of, to her shock, Lord Kraven. "Count" Johannes Mikael Kraven, the newscaster called him – apparently known as a bon vivant about the city. They referred to the inferno in the 3rd District as his mansion.

"What is it?" Laudro asked, noting her interest in the scene and her alarmed expression.

"I think you can stop dialing, Laudro," she muttered. She picked up the satellite from the deck and dialed São Paulo. "Lord Dömötör – boa noite, yes... I think I've found an answer."

"What is it?" he asked reflexively.

"Well," she said, trying to find words of a sudden. "I'm looking at news chopper footage of Ordogház burning. The whole place is up in flames."

"Yes, something is up. We're starting to get in contact with people – I was about to call," said Dömötör, pre-emptively. "There are all sorts of rumors flying. People know only a little bit more than we do."

"All right. Tell me what you know, especially if it concerns my mother."

"The two biggest and most distressing bits of news are that Lord Viktor is awake..."

" _Viktor?_ Why?" she barked into the phone, cutting him off.

"I don't know. The other rumor..." He paused, as if steeling himself. She was about to prompt him out of his silence when he began again in a rush. "The other rumor is that Lady Amelia was killed by lycans on the way to Ordogház. The Council, too..." He continued on, but she pulled the phone away from her ear and held it in her hand, staring at it.

"My Lady," said Laudro. "What is wrong?"

"My mother," she said slowly, forcing herself to concentrate on the words, the only words she could manage, coming out of her mouth, "I think my mother may be dead."

Faintly, she could hear Lord Dömötör's voice on the satellite speaker: "Léna? Léna? Are you there?" Her brain would not register it nor acknowledge him.

After some moments, Laudro just shook his head slightly, knitted his eyebrows together and said, "...what?" He then turned his head and looked at the television again.

Her mind locked up and refused to process any new stimuli, then rebelled. _There must be a mistake._ It grew quiet in the cabin as her mind shut down inputs. Laudro reached for her, in slow motion, but she shrank away from his talking shape that she could not recognize. Her mind sought refuge in concretes. _I must see her body._ The plane dipped slightly in its descent – she felt it in her stomach – but she thought the deck might as well have fallen away. She felt helpless, plunging, unable to grasp onto anything to stay her fall. Panic seized her and her head swam. Laudro's face appeared before her and just before she passed out, she realized she hyperventilated. He laid a hand on her shoulder...


	4. Culturecide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first section of this chapter (added 7/8/07) is a version of a response to a challenge by Danally on 'Open Sketch Night' on Bloodfeud, originally posted 3/9/07.

_My Lord,_

_I kneel and bow before you now and speak aloud my prayer so that you will hear it upon your awakening. While you, Lord Viktor, and Lady Amelia are one in memory, I have confidence that you will listen before deciding my fate._

_Let me be the one to first break the news to you that Viktor is dead by my own hand. Amelia, also, is dead in a lycan ambush. While I cannot fully comprehend what this turn of events means to you, I suspect that you cannot be happy with it nor with me. Please know that I had good reason to kill Lord Viktor._

_I woke Lord Viktor as I wake you now, to warn of a dire threat to our coven. The threat comes from Lord Kraven and Lucian, who was in fact not dead but walked the earth until last night. I saw him with my own eyes and now you see him. The lycans' own scientist, Singe, revealed to Viktor the plan of the lycans to create a hybrid of vampire and lycan to assist them in defeating us. You witness this revelation as I witnessed it. The hybrid was indeed created, however the hybrid is loyal to me, and not to the lycans._

_Lord Viktor, as much as I loved him once upon a time, believed himself to be the keeper of truth and seldom did other points of view shake that tightly held conviction. Because you are one in memory with Viktor, you must know that he killed my family and concealed the truth of the matter from me and the rest of the coven. You see that Michael Corvin and I are infatuated, but this is not the sole reason that I took the life of Viktor, your brother in memory. I chose Michael over him because... Viktor has taken my family from me. I valued Viktor's life less for what he had done. Michael saved my life, but Viktor, contrary to what he has always told me, took my family from me._

_As you hear my testimony, Lucian is dead, but Kraven most likely lives. I believe Kraven aims to kill you to complete his plan to seize power. I believe that he also bears some responsibility for Amelia's death, but I have no proof._

_If you must judge me, judge me in light of all that's happened in the last nights. My hope is that Kraven is brought to justice for conspiring, with the lycans, against you and the other Elders. I wish to be spared, certainly, but I also wish sanctuary for Michael, so that he may live and not fall into the hands of lycans nor vengeful vampires. I believe he can be an asset in the defense of us. You have no cause to fear me, for to my knowledge, you have done me no wrong. Humbly, I serve the coven and you, Lord Marcus._

_\-- Selene_

  
\--0--   
  
  
Léna regained consciousness in time for the touchdown bump of her Gulfstream. She'd been buckled into her seat. Through her clearing eyes she saw Laudro in the seat next to her, looking on with an expression of concern. _Murder._ Her entire body immediately tensed and she forced herself into action – against the sensation of being pressed flat by events. _Why?_ The problem-solving part of her mind awakened. Challenges she was used to – challenges to finish a task or overcome an obstacle. But this was something that couldn't be divided up and conquered, negotiated with, or played with, she thought, and then... Grief and shock overwhelmed her again, white as a blinding, paralyzing, and burning light. She closed her eyes and waited for it to release her.

"Can I get you anything? Can I do anything?" Laudro asked, softly in a voice she'd never heard from him.

Léna unbuckled as the jet taxied. She looked at her assistant pointedly and said, "Get us a car, Laudro." In the soupy maelstrom of her mind, the first hard kernels of anger began to grow. "Por favor."

"Where are we going?" Laudro asked in a small voice.

"We're going to check out that fire." Léna regulated her breathing. The manager in her engaged. "While you're doing that, I'm going to get some more details from... halfway around the world," she added, recovering her satellite.

"I'm on it," he replied. He looked as spooked as she felt. She could tell he was upset.

She watched a moment as he began to look up a number to call. "We're going to find some answers," she said with some emphasis.

"All right," he said, cheering up slightly.

She remembered the phone in her hand and put it back to her ear. Amazingly, the line was still open. "Lord Dömötör?"

"I hope what I've heard isn't true, Léna." There was a long pause. "I'm sorry," he said.

"I'm sorry, too," she replied automatically. He'd known her mother much longer than she had. She didn't know what he felt, really, but all she knew at the moment was shock. She willed herself into suppressing it. Everybody else was functioning, so she might as well, too. She would continue as long as she could. "Who are your contacts?"

Dömötör sighed audibly. "We've been in touch with Lord Gellért and Polgár Mansion. Huszár Mansion is out of contact with their vampires. The phone lines are burning up over there – getting lots of busy signals. Everybody's trying to figure out what's where."

"Any word on Lord Viktor or even Lord Marcus? Any other survivors?"

"Nobody knows where they are," replied Dömötör. "I think people are showing up here and there, but, I don't know – perhaps everybody got out, but..."

"I see," said Léna, filling up the sudden silence.

"Where are you going?"

"Ordogház."

"Be careful, Léna – we don't know what's happened."

"Well, that's why I've pulled some of our agents – they should be here in a day."

"What agents?"

"Amelia's protection for part of the trip. The men we brought from home."

"Kolláristas or your people?"

"My people – mortals."

"I'm going to recall them. They..."

"You can't do that! They're mortals and you have no authority."

"Then you better keep them under wraps – they're powerless against immortals. You're responsible for them if they're in your employ."

"They're the only muscle we've got over here and I intend to find out, by any means, where my mother's gotten to."

"See if you can meet up with some of the death dealers..."

"They're probably stirred up like a nest of hornets," said Léna.

"Whatever you do, be careful and keep me posted," he replied.

After hanging up, a memory came to her, unbidden but not unwelcome. Long before she knew how to describe the sensation, she simply felt it. In the distant past of her perfect memory, at its beginning, at her beginning, her mother held her in her arms on a warm night on the lake, well before the compound was built. At that time of her life, that's all there was in the universe – that sensation. The memory yielded no immediate comfort, but after it left her, she felt more steady and focused.

  
\--0--   
  
  
Forty-five minutes later, Léna and Laudro arrived at Ordogház – or what was well on its way to becoming its remains. People evidently had come from kilometers around in their cars to view the inferno. The authorities and a crowd of gawkers prevented them from approaching any closer than 100 meters, but she didn't know what she could have done had she been able to go in. Cars littered one side of the gravel roadway leading to the front gate of the property, leaving just enough space for pump trucks to leave and return. Within, all parts of the building appeared to be engulfed. Overwhelmed firefighters stood on the estate's grounds, suppressing the fire and watering down turf and adjacent trees to prevent burning embers from spreading the devastation beyond the compound's borders. The crowd, stupidly, watched the spectacle with no capacity for understanding what was being destroyed in front of their eyes.

She realized she, too, could do nothing more than watch through the front gate, too mesmerized to be shocked anymore. It had been 50 years since she'd seen, much less gone through, those gates. She remembered being mesmerized by the opulence during her brief stay back then – the palace had teemed with life. It had seemed like a small city, living out of view of the general public. It's walls contained and protected a place of great mystery and otherworldly power; the old vampires that lived there likewise kept timeless secrets. Such was the youthful wonder that she felt when her eyes fell on the mansion for the first time years ago. Now she wondered if any were able to escape, where they had gone, and whether they even had a home, now...

The old mansion, which had stood for centuries as the center of the vampires' society, suffered an ignominious end. She'd scarcely processed her own mother's apparent death, but here something else died that should've continued to exist until the end of time. The immolation of the once mighty house added insult to injury. This was not the death of a structure, but the death of a culture. Regardless of the cause, accidental or intentional, it made her angry. She couldn't help but wonder if the two horrifying turns of events were somehow connected.

Her satellite chirped inside the car and Laudro handed it to her through the driver's side window.

"Lord Dömötör," Laudro said.

"Yes? Anything new?" Léna said by way of greeting.

"I was able to debrief Lord Gellért a few minutes ago. Would you like the gory details?"

Léna sighed. "Is there any kind of coordinated effort to locate everybody? Find survivors?"

"Not that I know of. I think they're still trying..."

"Maybe you should appoint yourself the information clearinghouse until things calm down over here."

"Well, I'll do what I can."

"Fine. What have you found out?" Léna suddenly found herself mouthing the words without a sense that she was communicating anything or had any desire to. Taking her eyes off of the mesmerizing display in front of her to talk to Dömötör made her think about the wrong absence of her mother again. _I'm not going to break down on the phone,_ she repeated to herself. She forced herself to concentrate and analyze Dömötör's report.

"Léna, the gathering seemed to be going well, but then things started happening very, very quickly – and then it ended in chaos with Lord Gellért and others heading home. There had been a rumor circulating that Lord Viktor, and not Lord Marcus, had been awakened. This naturally caused great excitement and distress, especially amongst those who were looking forward to Marcus' reign. It would have meant that a dire emergency had occurred in the coven. Then the power went out and the death dealers who had been roaming the building all night suddenly kited out of the mansion. Then a new rumor surfaced that your mother had been killed on the train by lycans."

Léna paced up and down the section of road next to the parked rental car. She replied in Portuguese to confuse prying ears. "What I think is the death dealers went out to hunt for the lycans who killed my mother – and it would make sense for Lord Viktor to be awakened to assist. That's the only reason I can think of that he would be woken up. How reliable is this Lord Gellért?"

"Well, we consider him very rational. He's been an ally of your mother for centuries. Fortunately he left in the middle of the confusion because he didn't like the way things were unfolding."

"Did he say why?"

"Only that it was chaotic and he began to fear for his safety."

"I suppose he thought lycans might attack the mansion if they saw fit to kill my mother."

"At any rate, other nobles stayed... and that's the last that a lot of folks have heard from them."

"I bet I'm watching them burn up right now..."

"Do be safe, Léna. Keep an eye out. If it _is_ lycans, then they might be looking to mop up. They can smell you and you're not trained to spot them. Are you armed?"

"Are you kidding? I'm on a _business_ trip!"

After signing off, she closed the connection and tossed the satellite through the window onto the seat. "Anything new?" Laudro asked.

But she just walked away. After the conversation, her own thoughts of loss confronted her again – both for her mother and the old mansion in front of her. Images bombarded her from inside and out. The heat of the flames seemed to draw desolate thoughts upward, and before long her face became wet with pain. She had no words, not even a comforting thought that she could conjure, just nothingness. _She_ was on fire, now.

The organizational part of her mind dragged her out of nothingness and she considered what was _known_. The burning mansion, filling her field of vision and the night sky with flame and ash, was real. The suffering, destroyed lives within were real. Nobody, she supposed, had seen her mother's body. Technically it was hearsay, but the flames in sight reached well beyond the compound, turning to ash any hope of anything – finding her mother, especially. She'd held out a vain, unrealistic hope that her mother's rumored death was just that. A small, contrarian corner of her mind refused to believe her mother had died.

What would her mother have done or said if she witnessed what was before her? What could she do, other than watch? _"Change today to change tomorrow,"_ she probably would've said as she had many times before. _"The future that you desire must be created today."_ Léna then thought, for once, that she ought to listen to those words.

She wondered about her last moments – analytically. _How did she die?_ she thought suddenly. _Did she go down fighting? Did she die with a gun or a knife in her hand? Was she shot or hewn?_ And the Council... she would have Laudro chase down the location of the train station where she was most likely murdered – if indeed she had.

Léna picked the distinct, acrid smell of cigar smoke out of the cooked mansion smell and, as quickly as a lycan, found the source. The smoker sat on the hood of a nearby car and watched the flames, the same as she. She felt identification with the man for some reason – perhaps joining with him unintentionally in some riveting ritual. He held a cigar between two fingers of one hand but he looked far too young to be smoking thus. The sunglasses, in the middle of the night, also struck her as unusual. His black shirt, leather pants and boots also attracted her attention – he seemed strangely familiar to her. Léna pushed away from her car and strolled over to the sitting, smoking man. He took a puff just as she reached him. "Did you live there?" she asked in Magyar.

The man flinched slightly and then turned in her direction. The flames illumined a pasty white countenance from which his eyebrows and short, dark hair stood out in contrast. He was clean-shaven for this late time of night. "No, ma'am," he said, glancing at her and blowing out smoke. He then stopped abruptly in the middle of preparing an additional comment. He dropped to the ground next to her, effortlessly. He gave her a good looking over, down and then up. "Did you?" he asked. _Canines._

She shook her head and then decided to pull rank. "Where are you from, vampire? I don't recognize you." Léna stood centimeters taller than this vampire. "You're dressed like a death dealer," she said, pitching her voice almost in accusation. She wasn't quite in his space, but close. She felt she was entitled, somehow. She tried to pierce those sunglasses with her sight.

He took off his sunglasses then, revealing brown eyes. Then he deliberately raised the cigar to his mouth and drew on it, all the while keeping an eye on her. "I'm from Castle Víg, in the north. My name is Orbán and yes, I'm a death dealer." Then with a flourish he gestured in her direction with his cigar hand and said, "You?"

"A visitor," she said simply.

"Come, now. Did you come for the awakening?"

Léna lost her concentration for a moment and then recovered. "No, not technically." She debated internally whether to tell this man the whole story. Then she framed the words and watched his reaction. "Lady Amelia is my mother."

Orbán flinched again. "Excuse me?" said he, looking at her as if looking at her for the first time. He then glanced at the burning building and then back at her.

"Do you know what happened here?" Léna asked, pressing her interrogation of this death dealer Orbán.

"No. Do you?"

"I just heard from my people that my mother is most likely dead, and that Lord Viktor is awake, not Lord Marcus."

"That isn't good," he said, looking down and away in thought. "I'm sorry to hear that," he added. "How did she die?"

"Lycans." She nodded toward the mansion. "Perhaps they're responsible for this, too."

He put his cigar in his mouth and gazed toward the fire.

A chill went up her spine at the thought of lycans roaming nearby, admiring their handiwork. "So why are you here?" She ventured, interrupting his thoughts.

"You mean, 'we'". Orbán indicated behind her, along the line of cars. "A few more vampires are here. Hold on." He pulled out a mobile phone and placed a call. "Beware of lycan activity," was the essence of his call, probably to his compatriots. "So your people didn't mention anything about Lord Marcus?" he asked, returning his attention to her.

"Nothing," she said, continuing to study him, half of his face illuminated in the flickering light of the consuming mansion.

"Well, we were sent here to find out what happened to him, because he didn't show up at Castle Víg at the appointed time. There's been no answer at the mansion, and as you can see, I think we now know why."

"So you're waiting around until the fire goes out and you can check in the vault?" she asked.

"Yes, pretty much. I don't suppose you know whether it's fireproof and waterproof? How about you?"

"I'm looking for an Elder, too. Perhaps we should combine our efforts?"

"That's not a bad idea," he said. "Where are you staying?"

"My assistant and I have... temporary accommodations. Are you going back to Castle Víg at some point? I don't want to become a lycan lunch."

"Yes. We certainly can't stay here," he said, shaking his head. "It's four hours to daylight and I don't see us finding out anything new. Other than finding you, of course," said Orbán. "And if the lycans _are_ responsible for this, I agree that's another reason not to hang around." He pressed a button on his mobile with his cigar-free hand.

"Good Evening, Lord," he said into the phone. "No, no idea of his whereabouts. Actually, yes, we did. We've run into a vampire who claims to be Lady Amelia's daughter." Orbán looked up at Léna and made eye contact. "Yes, well, I have interesting news in that regard. I gather you've heard, then. Yes, she's looking for Lady Amelia – what else? I see... We'll see you soon." Orbán closed the connection and then spoke to her. "Lord Víg sends his condolences, but nonetheless would be delighted, Lady Léna, if you and your assistant would be his guests at the castle."

Léna swept a strand of hair back behind her ear. "That is very kind. Our luggage is on our airplane and so we will need to stop there before heading to the castle."

"I understand," said Orbán. He paused in thought for a moment and then asked, "Is Ádám with you?"

"You know Ádám, of course," Léna said with a nod. "He is in Brazil, protecting the coven."

Orbán's expression didn't change; he took a puff of his cigar. "Well, then, I suppose we shall follow you to the airport? And then we'll lead you to the castle, all right?"

"You're not just going to abandon the mansion, are you?"

"No, not entirely. We have people who can get in if we really want to. Perhaps when the excitement dies down and the fire goes out." Orbán's mobile phone rang. He answered and then listened for what seemed like a full two minutes. Finally, he said into the phone, "I see – wow. That's a bit of a shock. It keeps getting more interesting. All right, later, then." He closed the connection, retracted the antenna, and shoved the mobile phone into his pants pocket. He looked up at Léna, not concealing his distress very well.

Léna creased her forehead. "Not good news?"

Orbán took a deep breath. "A death dealer named Kou, one of Viktor's..."

"I know who Kou is," Léna interrupted.

"Yes. Anyway – Kou just called Castle Víg requesting shelter," said Orbán, raising his eyebrows briefly in one flick. "He reports that Lady Amelia and the Council are indeed dead..." He paused while looking into her eyes.

Léna showed little outward reaction, but internally, the reminder pushed her back toward the slippery slope.

"Not only that," he continued slowly. "Lord Viktor has been killed by one of his own death dealers."

"Yes, quite interesting," Léna said, absently, looking away toward the burning hulk. "So, there was a revolt and then the death dealers burned down the mansion?" She added. She shook her head and then looked back at him.

"No. Kou said Lord Marcus started this fire. And he..."

"What?" she whispered with incredulity.

"...now, has gone missing. There's more, but we should get back to the castle. I'm interested in hearing what Kou has to say."

Léna could do little more than shake her head in disbelief. Instead of finding answers, her questions kept multiplying. _Nothing has made sense since I woke up this afternoon._


	5. Creatures

Léna paced on the tarmac at Ferihegy Airport and argued with Lord Dömötör, half a world away. She didn't want to keep Orbán waiting, but she felt obligated to check in and let him know her whereabouts.

"Be careful of Lord Víg," said Dömötör, among other things.

"I can handle myself, Lord," said Léna, exasperated.

"Perhaps you should contact Lord Gellért..."

"Are you telling me what to do? I'm trying to find some answers and going to Castle Víg is probably the best option I have. It's where everybody's going. It's where Lord Marcus' regent is. It's now the seat of the European coven by default."

"We've never trusted him."

"I'll turn on my charm. He invited me over – I can't exactly refuse, can I?" _If he can pull my mortals out, I'm going to do what I damn well please._

  
\--0--  
  
  
They left the airport and the burning mansion behind and traveled away from the old coven's center of gravity. She rode in the lead car with Orbán and gave him her "elevator speech" as they made their way along Budapest's boulevards and then ramped onto a motorway headed north. In time, they took the Vác and Rád exit and headed east, on first arterials and then secondary roads that shed gravel from the bed as they sped along. She welcomed the opportunity to talk about something besides their present state of affairs and so summarized her activities in the Brazilian coven and what business brought her east. She touched on her piloting skills, the executive transport business she'd founded, the hotel that her company owned, the frightful São Paulo commute, and her love of jai-alai – playing, not watching.

She hoped these vampires could help give her some answers. She'd only been provided with sketchy details and she was under the impression that they knew very little themselves. Castle Víg seemed a suitable place for her to shelter. With Ordogház gone, it was the logical place for her to be. She would not be anywhere else other than at the center.

Orbán listened attentively, smoking a cigar and resting his arm on the car window opening. He seemed not in the mood for speaking, but Léna resolved to prod him.

"How do you know Ádám?" Léna asked.

Orbán chuckled for a moment and said, "It's a long story. Perhaps I'll tell you some time."

Léna looked at him sideways and would've grinned in better times. She usually loved a good story. "Of course you've got my curiosity aroused, now."

Orbán gestured with his cigar vaguely in her direction and then forward. "Ádám lived at this castle for many years – a long time ago. Lord Marcus banished him. Did you know?"

"Yes, I think I did hear that somewhere, actually." _Pillow talk,_ she thought to herself. "What did he do to provoke Marcus?"

"I'd rather not speak for him. It's his history."

"What _can_ you say?"

"You are in the country of Ádám's history," said Orbán after a long silence. "He was born southeast of here, on the plain. He rode through these forests."

Léna could also claim to be conceived in Hungary, but she kept that fact to herself. "I know all that," she said. "Tell me something I don't know. Did you two fight together?"

Orbán took a long drag. "Yes, we were soldiers and defenders of Lord Marcus."

"Death dealers?"

"No, soldiers. Holding a weapon didn't automatically make one a death dealer – at least back then, anyway."

"I see," she said, and then returned her gaze forward.

"These days, if you hold a weapon, you're a death dealer," he replied, sounding as if he just told her a secret. More strongly, he added, "His sister, on the other hand, _was_ a death dealer."

"Ophelia?"

"Yes."

She looked over at him again. "Did you know my father, Halldór? He was a death dealer, too."

Orbán glanced at her sideways. "You're really interested in history," he said.

She didn't regret the inquisition. "I didn't know much about my father. I'm trying to find a vampire who doesn't have a phobia about discussing history."

Orbán took a puff. "Yes, I did know your father, or at least knew of him. Didn't know he had a child, that's for sure. I crossed paths with him now and again, at least. I don't think you could be a vampire or a lycan and not know who he was."

"He had a way of commanding attention," Léna said.

"Yes, he did," he said, voice trailing off. He scratched his chin.

"I don't suppose you'll tell me more, will you?"

Orbán shrugged. "Aside from being over two meters tall, he killed loads of lycans. Lycans feared him and vampires respected him." He shrugged again. "Not everybody liked him, but if we weren't vampires, we'd be mortal humans, right?"

She wondered how long she could press him before he clammed up. Her steady gaze prompted him to continue.

"He was a warrior to the core – was one before he was turned, so I'm told. Selene has just as much lethality."

"Selene?"

"Yes. Oh, I didn't give you that detail. Selene is the death dealer who killed Lord Viktor yesternight," he said with a brief raise of his eyebrow. "So I'm told. And coincidentally she's the one who last saw your father alive, years ago. I think she's in a little bit of trouble, now. I got that information third-hand or so – about your father. You understand?"

Léna felt a tingle in the back of her neck and her face blanch. Orbán took a call on his own satellite phone, leaving Léna alone with her thoughts. She hadn't expected that sort of information from this Orbán. She turned and faced forward. _Maybe I should deal with the death of my mother, first._

They crossed through a gate and Orbán gave the gatekeeper a two-fingered wave. Above the treeline, the drive took a serpentine path up to the imposing house of Lord Víg and Lord Marcus. "Do you think Lord Marcus will return here?" asked Léna.

"I've no earthly idea. I don't know where he'd go besides here. This is his home." Orbán indicated the hulk coming up at them on the right with his cigar hand.

"Indeed it is," said Léna.

The massive gate at the castle wall drew upward at their approach and Léna found herself in the paved courtyard near the ancient keep. The courtyard was more inviting than the outward appearance of the walls would suggest. Two smartly-dressed gentlemen came to meet them. "Our faithful mortals," Orbán noted. "Without them, we would have a much tougher time."

"Lord Víg awaits you in the reception hall," said one of the men.

"Thank you, Oscar," said Orbán from inside the car. "Follow them," Orbán prompted. "They'll take your things up to your room."

Léna got out and met Laudro from their rented car. She paused before following the man named Oscar and turned back to Orbán. "Aren't you coming in?"

"No, I need to run back out and gather up some more refugees."

Another assistant to Oscar appeared and set about unpacking the rented car. "My Lady... sir, this way, if you please," said Oscar.

Orbán's cars pulled away and made a lazy turn in the courtyard on their way back out the way they came in. He'd left them at what appeared to be the main entrance to the keep. The immense, splayed wide doors revealed a small antechamber. Two dour looking men with machine guns hanging from straps on their shoulders wandered generally beside the entry. _Just like São Paulo_ , she thought. Both took an interest in her as she and Laudro passed them, a pace behind Oscar. Léna did what she usually did when stared at: she stared right back.

Firmly shut inner doors stopped them cold in the antechamber. Stenciled into the surface of the inner doors was a gigantic 'M'. She knew what they stood in, but Oscar saw fit to tell them anyway. "This, My Lady, is the light lock. If, heaven forbid, you have a need to go out in the daylight, this will keep the rest of the vampires from frying." As he spoke, the outer doors closed on them. The inner doors opened and they took a step up into a corridor, which extended left and right of them for some distance. A third door, directly in front of them, led to a half-flight of stone steps upward to a large plaza. Two more smartly suited vampires stood topside on either side of the steps. They, too, gave her a cold stare. "Don't mind them," said Oscar as they walked. "They expected Lord Marcus, but we have you instead." He smirked as they reached the top of the steps.

Léna considered upbraiding the mortal, but they had just met only minutes ago. "Amusing, but I was invited here by Lord Víg. Considering the consequences of my presence here, I'd rather be somewhere else."

"Understood, My Lady. No offense intended. I was merely making light of the attention you were getting. You have been given a state room on the second floor while your assistant will be two floors below."

"How many vampires live in this castle?"

"We have 48 vampires... _and_ 41 mortals, My Lady, not including tonight's arrivals."

Laudro had indicated that he had about enough of events and would retire for the day. Léna, however, still on edge from the surreal events of the past night, would not be bedding down soon. In contrast to Laudro, she wanted to be _involved_. She had a head full of steam and intended to fully investigate what had happened.

Léna and Oscar arrived in the state room and were met by a bewildered looking mortal, Claire, who rivaled Léna in height. She nervously gave her a tour of the expansive common area, bedchamber, washroom, and closet.

"If you need anything at all, My Lady – anything – just ring me." Concluding, she looked in the direction of Oscar.

Léna wondered what "anything" meant. "I can't think of anything right now, thanks. Except... I'll need somebody to direct me to Lord Víg."

Oscar excused himself, then, and left her in the company of Claire. "I can wait while you freshen up. Just let me know what you need," she said.

"You're excused. I think I'd rather be alone for a few minutes. Come back in a half hour." Claire nodded to her and then left the bedchamber. Léna then sat on the edge of the bed, closed her eyes, and dropped straight back with a muffled thump. She wondered about those refugees, escaping the inferno with only their lives, and then cowering in the surrounding area, waiting for the sun to come up.

  
\--0--  
  
  
Claire led Léna down a cramped, dimly-lit stairwell, down a corridor, and then down another, more well-traveled stairwell. Centuries of feet on the stone steps and hands on the stone walls had left them stained and worn smooth. Strung up wires and electric fixtures provided light where torches and candelabras had previously in the not-too-distant past.

The furnishings, she noted, had not been updated in recent history – perhaps they were the same as had been there during the prior reign of Lord Marcus. The vampires, too, had probably not changed or aged – with more solidity than a castle, they didn't wear down. But something had happened to Marcus to, as she'd been told, cause him to wreak havoc without a care, it seemed, for hurting fellow vampires. The handful of vampires that they passed generally did not acknowledge her except for the briefest eye contact or once over glance afforded a stranger. One or two stopped in their tracks and looked back as they passed, but only briefly. She walked within a wounded coven, one missing arms and legs. Then, she realized, she was one of them, wounded along with them, even after living 100 years apart from them.

Then they arrived at the rear of a great, underground hall, the entrance of which was flanked by two visibly tense guards. Claire stopped and indicated with outstretched fingers and a slight bow. Léna gave one of the sentries a look as she stepped through. Overseas, she took her entrée for granted, being an Elder's daughter and she didn't consider for a moment that she might not be let in. Her host expected her, anyway, she thought.

Within stood a collection of vampires expensively dressed, expecting a celebration. Now they stood for a wake. She'd exchanged her casual attire for a business suit, but she still felt out of place amongst the leather, silk, and silver clad vampires of the Old World. They turned to her as she walked in, perhaps expecting her to bring some sort of encouraging news or clarity to a confused situation. Several of their eyebrows rose while others wore blank expressions as if Léna was somebody that they'd never seen before. These Old World nobles clustered in concerned, murmuring groups of five to ten, still leaving ample room for her to walk down the middle of the room toward the front, where a man, who could only be Lord Víg, stood next to a throne.

Despite the stone construction of the floor and walls, the hall felt warm to her. Víg rested his right arm on the left arm of an ornate, padded wooden chair. Other chairs, less endowed than the one guarded by him, lined the walls of the room under the watchful eyes of portraits of vampires. He was medium height, thin, and crowned with short, wavy, dark blond hair. Under somewhat heavy eyebrows were eyes of a pleasant shade of brown. Underneath he was clean-shaven and his prominent nose came to a point. He wore a tuxedo, with every detail of it in black. He clasped his hands together at her approach and hoisted a grin on his mouth. As she reached the dais, she noticed a large dark blue "M" inlaid in the marble, leaving no doubt which Elder the throne belonged to.

She suddenly realized that this had been Dmitri's situation just days ago – visiting another coven with not much of an idea of what to say or how he would be received. _Dmitri may be burned to a crisp in Ordogház,_ she realized of a sudden, reminding her of why she had come and what she wanted to do.

"Welcome, Lady Léna. I am Lord Víg, at your service," he said with emphasis on the 'at' and a slight bow. "Infrequently has Lady Amelia graced us with her presence, but I am honored to be in the presence of Amelia's daughter," he continued as he stepped down off the dais to meet her and put out his hand. "I share your loss."

"Thank you for the warm welcome, Lord Víg. I very much regret the circumstances of my visit."

She exchanged polite greetings with several nobles as she was introduced, two of which, as husband and wife, were identified as being of Huszár Mansion. She immediately gave them her condolences for the loss of the Councilor on the train. They returned the gesture for the loss of her mother. Other than this couple, the nobles that she made the acquaintance of were irrelevant to her purpose in being there.

A thought randomly intruded. _Where is Selene?_ she repeated in her mind, inexplicably, like a drumbeat or a snippet of a song lodged firmly there. "Is there any news of Lord Marcus?" she asked instead of Lord Víg.

He indicated with his hand and began to stroll toward the rear of the hall, in the direction that she had just come. As she walked with him, Víg's face turned serious. He spoke slowly, at first facing forward and then turning toward her as they walked. "None. What little we know is fanciful: that he has turned into something not-quite-vampire and disappeared." He paused in his reply for a moment and then added, "And, with the other two of our Elders dead, things have come unraveled in this coven in a big way." He lost himself in thought after that. An armed vampire approached and whispered in his ear. Víg thanked the man and dismissed him.

Léna wasn't sure she'd heard Víg correctly – and if she heard him correctly, she wasn't sure she believed him. _This must be what Orbán meant._ She shook her head. "Wait a minute. 'Not-quite-vampire'? What do you mean?" Again, this old country had presented an affront to her sensibilities.

Víg continued, as matter-of-fact and seriously as he could muster. "He sprouted wings and flew away." To her look of incredulity, he continued, "This is what the death dealers from Ordogház tell me – those that survived."

"They're here?"

"Yes. They arrived just before you did."

"How many? How many others survived?"

"Five death dealers survived. They brought about 20 or 25 nobles and servants with them." Then he sighed. "But we think over 100 may have died. Many..."

 _"Over 100..."_ Léna repeated, numbly. "Has this coven gone mad?"

"It's been quite an... interesting couple of nights," he replied.

Léna closed her eyes to clear her head. "Why did the death dealers come _here?_ "

"Well, this is the most logical place for Lord Marcus to come next. They'll defend this place in case he decides, for whatever reason, to commit a massacre here."

His reply chilled her. He kept his composure, but nothing could hide the plain truth that he had precious little idea how to defend the castle. How would the vampires defend their own against an Elder who'd burned down their capital? Was Selene in league with the lycans or Marcus? "Any motive for what he's done? Or Selene? Is there any connection between Lord Viktor's death, my mother's death...?"

Víg paused for a beat. "None that we can see. We just don't know very much. Especially how your mother died. We're told that it was a lycan ambush."

"They must have tracked her." _She was a sitting duck on the train and couldn't divert._ "Is Selene among the death dealers?"

"No. She's missing in action. I'm not sure she and her accomplice would want to come here anyway."

"Accomplice?" Léna prompted.

"She has an accomplice in the murder of Lord Viktor. A lover he is, we think. A lycan named Michael." Víg put his hand on his chin, then. "Except he's not quite a lycan. He's something else."

"Like Lord Marcus is something else? It must be something in the water," muttered Léna.

"Or in the blood," said Víg, looking at her steadily.

 _Abomination._ The word came, unbidden, into Léna's mind. "I'd like to see the death dealers that just arrived," she replied.

They descended a level and continued through labyrinthine corridors until they approached a large room ahead of them, lit with electric light. She saw one figure in the distance, inside the room, dressed in a dusty kind of uniform, working at a benchtop. Other, unseen vampires spoke amongst themselves in low voices while they checked weapons. The low voices told her there was no joviality in this crowd. In short order she recognized the man that she saw – Kou. He generally looked the same as what she remembered from her visit years ago, but his manner was now alien. Of course, it had been a different and less desperate time back then. Kou was an Asian man of slight stature, with close-cropped, dark hair and a goatee. He reassembled and organized several weapons before him. His face carried an unspoken request that he not be disturbed from what he was thinking or doing. Their approaching footsteps, though, alerted him. He looked up and hinted at a nod to Víg, and then went back to what he was doing. Then he abruptly stopped work to look up at Léna as she approached. He stared at her as she entered.

She said nothing to him – just made eye contact. No normal greeting was appropriate for the occasion. She entered the room to find three other death dealers and another doorway leading out on the far wall. Beyond that passage was more preparation activity. Arrayed on racks and workbenches around the room were varieties of machine pistols, knives, and machine guns. Somewhere they had even found a grenade launcher.

She remembered all but one of them from her brief visit, but they hadn't worn these anxious expressions back then. In an instant she realized that these death dealers were still in their element. They were still at battle – they had lost one skirmish and prepared for imminent follow-on attack. Léna entered, intending to console them for a portion of their lives lost, their comrades lost, and their home lost. Instead, jaws and eyes set in determination greeted her. They all prepared to face the enemy, the enemy Lord Marcus, head on and possibly die in the process. They were the death dealers, after all. Meeting a death dealer meant that their opponent died or they died in a battle to the last – they carried through and accepted victory or death.

She remembered the names of the other two males, but not the female. The tall, short-haired blonde gave Léna just the barest notice – she evidently had been weeping very recently. The stocky, muscular one with the tattoos on his hands, dark hair, goatee, and small eyes was Duncan. A tall blond male with a square head and pointed nose and who was propped against a wall, flicking glances here and there was Márton. Eventually they all turned their attention to Léna, even the female, finally, who probably didn't know who she was. She stopped what she was doing, paying attention now like the others.

"You shouldn't be here," Kou announced.

"I want to be here, Captain," replied Léna, tartly. "As much as you."

"Believe me, you don't want to be here," replied Kou. "Why do you want to be here?" he said, desperation showing easily through the dismissive tone that he took.

This wasn't the Kou she had met before. That one had been all-business, but had made the occasional wise-crack. He'd had a dark humor about him then. This one needed a clear path to a target. Léna almost fed on it. "Because I'm just as angry as you are. And I want answers, just like you."

"Aye," said Kou.

The blonde female death dealer boiled with rage of a sudden. She pounded a clenched fist, once, on a nearby end-table, leaving a noticeable dent in the wood. "Perhaps you didn't notice, but we just lost the better part of an entire coven, so _yeah,_ we're a little angry!"

"Patricia!" Kou said.

Léna met the female death dealer's hostile gaze head-on. "Have you knowledge of the whereabouts of Selene?"

Patricia's teeth clenched. "If we knew where Selene was, we wouldn't be in here entertaining you, would we?"

"How about Lord Marcus? Any ideas?"

Patricia stood erect and put her hands on her hips. "Look, who the fuck are _you?_ To hell with Selene and to hell with Marcus!"

"Patricia!" Kou barked again.

"That's all right, Kou," Léna said. She turned back to Patricia and said evenly, "My name is Léna Halldórsdóttir and Lady Amelia was my mother."

"Well, that's just fabulous. It's nice to meet you," Patricia said sarcastically. "So, Léna, Halldór's daughter, you'll have to forgive me if I _don't_ bow." She walked part-way around Léna, looking her over, and then retreated.

"That's quite all right, I'm not an Elder," Léna said. She wouldn't let Patricia provoke her and she even understood the anger.

Patricia nodded with some exaggeration. "Well, I, ah, would love to sit around and chat, but we've got an Elder to kill." She then huffed loudly and stalked out of the room. Márton followed her with his eyes. Léna looked after her for just a moment and then looked back at Duncan and Márton.

"Tell her what you saw," said Víg to Duncan. Víg had taken up a position next to a wall, leaning against it with arms folded.

"He didn't tell us where he was going," Duncan offered. "Just started ripping people up. Bullets didn't have any effect on him. We left the mansion as he was torching it. He killed every vampire that he saw. My Lady, I have fought many battles with lycans and seen many things in my years, but the sight of Lord Marcus," Duncan stopped and glanced at Márton. "The state he was in – what he had become and what he was doing – what we saw was something horrible, hideous, and deadly. It was not the Lord Marcus we knew."

"Selene has a lot to answer for," announced Patricia, returning and standing in the doorway near Márton. "She killed a death dealer and an Elder! And knocked Kou flat on his ass."

"For years it was the other way around," said Kou. That was more like the Kou that Léna remembered. "I taught my student all too well."

"You're going to have to stand in line to get at Selene, I think," said Patricia to Léna. Patricia had calmed down. Everybody seemed to be relaxing slightly – maybe it was just because of the opportunity to talk.

"Aren't there supposed to be five of you?" asked Léna.

"Haruye isn't here. She's at Gellért Mansion, providing security for the refugees there," said Duncan.

  
\--0--  
  
  
The tapestries, paintings, and mirrors that lined the walls of the bedchamber beckoned her sight, but her mind preoccupied with other things. Her body, despite its inherent vampire vigor, knew that the night drew to a close and exhaustion, not to mention an unfavorable mood, preempted her appreciation for the décor. She saw inward instead, replaying and analyzing the events of the night. The busy-ness of information gathering concluded, she revisited thoughts that she'd pushed aside after the harrowing plane ride in.

Claire, or somebody, had been through her luggage, organizing. She found many of her toiletries set out and arranged on the vanity and bedstead. She appreciated the gesture. "Can I get you anything or do anything for you at all?" asked Claire, from behind her, in the direction of the doorway to the common area.

"Anything?" Léna repeated. Her lips felt swollen of a sudden.

"Anything, My Lady. We'll try."

"I don't suppose you can bring my mother back? Otherwise, nothing."

"At least let me dress you for bed."

"How am I going to sleep in this place, Claire?" asked Léna, as Claire efficiently worked. _With Lord Marcus still on the loose._

"I don't think you'll have trouble, Lady Léna. I'll be your daylight guardian while you sleep."

Léna had no idea why she would reveal her innermost thoughts to a servant, much less this one, a mortal. "This has been the most awful night of my life," said Léna, looking at nothing in particular.

"And yet you shed no tears," replied the mortal.

"There's no time for that just now," Léna said. It was as if the coven had suddenly begun to spontaneously consume itself – caused by what provocation she knew not – and to an indeterminate endpoint. The death dealers and everyone else who survived the destruction of Ordogház were doubtless in shock – or screaming in anger if Patricia's reaction was any indication. The events had even affected those in the coven who resided in outlying mansions and castles. Lords and nobles from all corners of their world had gathered at Ordogház for the awakening, even Dmitri and two Councilors of her home coven and so many had perished. A lycan ambush, a murder of another Elder, and the arrival on the scene of two mutated creatures had changed all of their lives forever – and for what? And this Selene and Michael – were their deeds done? Did they have a role in her mother's death? First had come her mother's murder, then the destruction of Ordogház, and now further madness for the coven in the guise of a deranged vampire Elder with an appetite for destruction. What next? Once brought to heel, if it could be done, perhaps there would be time to take stock of the coven's losses.

Who would fill the void? Who would lead them? Certainly not Lord Marcus.

"It's an honor serving one such as you," said Claire. "Lie down, now, and we'll see if we can get you to sleep."

Léna did as she was told.

"How old are you, My Lady?"

Léna's eyes went out of focus. "I'm 99."

"I have 42 mortal years. Tell me about your home," Claire said softly.

Léna would have answered, but she had gone to sleep.

  
\--0--  
  
  
In the insane lands of dreams, she stood in a city, aflame. She saw a reflection of herself with a flickering image in her eye. Then the eyes lit, and the eyes of blood lust, of blood fury, took her. She rose on warm jets of destruction, sprouting wings, taking flight, with hot coals in her stomach. She soared over the city, as if a dragon, expelling hot, burning breath. Then she looked down at her creation, the entire city ablaze, just like her. The heat bore her ever higher, until dawn when she, too, felt the sting of rejection by the flaming and distant orb. First aileron, then wing, then control, and then mind vanished. Her mouth gaped wide in agony and breathed its last. She descended, trailing smoke and pieces of her, toward the bosom of glassy sea, her reflected image impacting from below.


	6. Remembrance

Léna jolted awake to the sound of a screech. She felt disoriented and clammy, in an unfamiliar place with a mind struggling to reconnect her senses with her recollections. The dim light from a candle on a corner table focused her and reminded her that she lay on a large bed in a state room of Lord Marcus' castle. The disorientation didn't clear as quickly as she thought it would. She was dressed in strange bedclothes – a gown, possibly from another age, stuck to her body. _What time is it?_ She wondered. _What year is it?_

A willowy, bowing figure appeared at her bedside. "My Lady," Claire said, rising, "may I get you something?"

"How long have you been here?" Léna asked. She appreciated Claire just then, an image from the time in which she belonged. Claire had a round face and brown hair, worn in page-boy fashion. She had wise, brown eyes and she pressed her thin lips into a line when her mouth wasn't open to talk.

"I've been here the entire day, My Lady."

"Did you hear a noise immediately before I awoke?"

Claire busied herself straightening sheets. "You must have had a bad dream. What was it about?"

"I don't remember it," Léna replied, shaking off the effects of sleep and distorted time. Unfortunately she in fact did remember it, but she was not in a mood to have it analyzed. She'd dreamed of decadent ways that the mortal servants of Marcus' house had serviced their masters... many of those ways Lord Viktor had later banned. For the life of her, she couldn't remember how she might have acquired such knowledge. And for a vampire, that was an extraordinary thing. _Definitely a dream,_ she thought, and shuddered. She ignored the vague sense of arousal that remained in her lower abdomen.

"You have a phone message," said Claire next.

Léna finally settled on where and when she was and put out her hand, absently, as if Laudro were before her.

"Treva Kollár would like you to call on her satellite phone." Claire indicated a cordless on the bedstead and left the room.

Léna's outstretched hand diverted to the nearby handset and dialed the long-memorized number. Treva answered her satellite promptly. "Alô, Treva," Léna said. "Beleza? Qualé?"

"I'm coming," replied Treva.

"What do you mean, _'I'm coming'?_ " Léna abruptly sat up in bed.

"Lord Dömötör is sending us to find out what happened to Lady Amelia."

Léna put her hand on her forehead and closed her eyes. "Oh, he thinks I need help, does he?"

"No – he wants to find out for himself, too. He's as upset as anybody."

"How many?"

"Four..."

Léna winced. "Four. Let me guess: Xavier, Ádám, and..."

"Luz."

"What do you think you guys are going to do?"

"For one thing, protect you."

"I don't think I need protecting."

"You don't really have any choice in the matter, unfortunately. It's Lord Dömötör's prerogative – as Lady Amelia's regent."

Léna rubbed her forehead. "You know, I'm glad that you're coming and I'm not glad that you're coming."

"I know. But, I want to come. We're all devoted to Lady Amelia. It's why we exist. You can't expect us to sit on our hands and let this sort of thing go unanswered? And we'd rather it not happen again."

"Again?"

"To you," Treva clarified.

"Isn't he overreacting?"

"He believes you're in danger."

"You mean he believes I'm _incapable_ ," Léna groused.

  
\--0--  
  
  
Difficult as it was, Léna eventually fell back to sleep after the phone conversation with Treva. Waking later in the afternoon, she immediately set her mind to work on the ramifications of the Kolláristas. They rivaled the death dealers in fanaticism and loyalty. Her mother saw to that – she would not have her personal guardians be any other way. They were untested, however, outside of Brazil, where life and death situations were rare except for the occasional dustup with the São Paulo gangs. Only Ádám had fought, much less seen, lycans. She looked forward to their support, but did not look forward to the personalities in an unfamiliar situation. She didn't know how useful they would really be.

After reawakening, an invitation arrived for her presence at breakfast – as a guest of Lord Víg. It was delivered by Frida, one of Claire's helpers. She checked in with Treva via satellite. She was still in the air, but very near the Continent. Frida dressed her and she reported to the great dining room, as she called it.

The dining area was located off the main plaza of the castle keep. Lord Víg held court at this place and at this time, nightly, taking the measure of the castle and its activities, issuing instructions, and offering his opinions on matters vampire and otherwise. Lord Víg held these meetings regardless of whether Lord Marcus was actively reigning or not, she'd been told. He bade her sit to his immediate left and at his end of the long, polished, wooden table, loaded with all manner of crystal and silver overflowing with blood. Across from her sat Orbán and she couldn't help but wonder at the meaning of the placement of the chairs. Kou, more presentable than when she'd last seen him, sat tensely, stationed at her left. Other nobles of the castle gathered at the table, perhaps 25 vampires in all, joining in the audience of the Lord of the castle. The servants, both mortal and not, brought blood in yet more crystal and hovered nearby with flagons on silver plates in case any one of them could possibly want more.

"Good afternoon, my friends," Víg began. "Ordinarily the repast is reserved for social conversation and lighter matters, but I know all of you have an interest in what is happening in the coven. I see many long faces and concerned vampires here, and it is right that you are concerned," he said, looking at each of them in turn. He seemed to lay his eyes on her more than most, but then again he was a male and she sat conveniently at his left arm. "So, we'll begin by offering tribute to those we have lost in the last two nights – 121 vampires..."

Several seated at the opposite end of the table gasped.

"That's half our number," somebody muttered, aghast, near her.

"... ranging in age from children to Elder Lady Amelia and Elder Lord Viktor. Hail them."

Léna followed the cue and clanked her crystal to the others.

"I have other announcements," he said to quiet the hubbub that his first statement brought forth. "Our Lord Marcus is awake, somewhat behind schedule, but has been implicated in the destruction of Ordogház Mansion in Budapest. He has fled and nobody knows his whereabouts. Additionally, the death dealer who was responsible for the death of Lord Viktor is also missing. The lycans who were responsible for the treacherous murder of Lady Amelia are, of course, running wild. Some were doubtless killed on the same night and in the same location as Lord Viktor's murder, but others escaped. To this end, I've instructed Orbán to assemble a small team to mount a search, both in the city and in the country, for these lycans, Selene the death dealer, and Lord Marcus. Our interest is in dispensing justice. We hope to capture Selene and Lord Marcus and take incidental retribution on any lycans that we encounter. Lady Léna is here," he said, gesturing with his hand in her direction, "who is the daughter of Lady Amelia in case you don't know her, along with Captain Kou of Ordogház, representing the surviving death dealers of Lord Viktor's corps. They will be assisting in the search or providing additional protection for this castle in case Lord Marcus should find his way here."

 _Who put this lord in charge?_ Léna wondered. He made additional announcements on other, less important matters. When he finished and the conversations began to fragment amongst smaller groups at the table, she tapped him on his elbow. "Lord, I should let you know that a contingent from Lady Amelia's personal guard is coming to find out first-hand what is going on."

"Is that right?" Víg said. "Well, then we'll have to employ them in the search effort."

"My Lord, these are Lady Amelia's Kolláristas. They're going to do whatever the hell they want." _They're only here because Dömötör knew he'd have a revolt on his hands if he didn't let them come._

"Indeed?" he said. "If you have an opportunity to direct their efforts, I'd recommend that they be sent to poll the vampire houses of the coven to see where Selene may be sequestered."

"They may do that," Léna said, certain that Víg did not entirely understand her.

"It would be better if Kou's and Orbán's group carry on with the lycan eradication and the hunt for Lord Marcus. After all, we have the advantage of knowing the country that we live in."

"You're forgetting Ádám. But a different perspective can also be advantageous," Léna responded.

"Of course. That reminds, me, Léna – I've been thinking about the possibilities of reconstituting our government – subject to Lord Marcus' blessing of course. As you know, we are without a council and we will have to hold new elections."

Léna did not think that was a wise idea, but would be at pains to explain why, if asked. "Perhaps we ought to find Lord Marcus first and allow a suitable amount of time to pass before thinking about the future. The other Elders died only two nights ago."

Víg looked at her for a long moment and then said, "Oh of course you're right, where are my manners? But you'll have to agree that it is not too early to think about these things, especially when it's just a provisional council under consideration. Selene, when caught, will have to be put on trial and we must have the mechanism to do so. And it is the same for Lord Marcus. We have not ever had the need to bring charges against an Elder, but Lord Marcus must be given the opportunity to defend himself. There may be a perfectly rational explanation for what he did. Perhaps he was provoked?"

Léna liked the sound of 'provisional' and thought, deep down, that all were entitled to their day in court, even Selene. Misgivings about Lord Víg or no, It was good that there would apparently be some order to the proceedings. She looked forward to the quick apprehension of Selene and Lord Marcus and the determination of the facts. She noticed Orbán's eyebrow lift and she realized that she had been staring at him while in thought.

  
\--0--  
  
  
Nightfall, for her, had not brought forth any new revelations other than the cold tally of their losses. Their relatively small population, maintained over the centuries, meant that most of the vampires in the coven had suffered a loss of somebody familiar. Preoccupied vampires gathered into groups to discuss friends, relatives, and acquaintances that had been killed or presumed killed. On top of the grievous wound to the coven, they contended with two deceased Elders, for many, the only leaders that they'd known in their lives. Many owed their very existence to an Elder.

The Ordogház contingent among them stood out by keeping to themselves in the unique pain that they knew. Heaven forbid they would find it necessary to flee from Marcus a second time. Arguments broke out in the corridors and the sitting rooms in the debate over whether to shutter the castle and send the remaining vampires overseas or to stand and fight whichever killer came to call. So much needed their attention and so little resources were available to them.

Soon a second vampire airliner would be available to secretly shuttle those who wanted to immediately relocate to the Americas – to abandon unpleasant memory. Léna had no intention of retreating, however – she could not leave until she learned the circumstances of her mother's and Viktor's deaths to her satisfaction. Though she could flee if she chose, an Elder's daughter would not. A warrior's daughter would fight. She never retreated from a challenge anyway, be it in business or in play. She agreed with Lord Víg's plan, essentially, to send out teams to locate Selene and Lord Marcus – there was plainly no use in cowering in the castle as if their quarry were the sun. Marcus would expect that of his own. _And so, let the Kolláristas be an expression of my rage._

And so, enter the Kolláristas into Hungary, re-entering as the turned descendants of mortal Kollár clansmen and clanswomen who'd attended to her mother in days of old. Orbán notified Léna not long after breakfast that they'd landed and would be fetched by a security detail. They would augment the remaining warriors of the European coven and at the same time increase her own coven's presence in the Old World. Whether they would be any kind of effective or simply cannon fodder, she didn't know. She wondered if she would recognize them in this foreign place.

For whatever reason, Orbán accompanied her to the courtyard of the keep to await the arrival of the Kolláristas under a bright moon. "What can we expect from them?" he asked.

She glanced at him only briefly and said, "To tell you the truth, I don't really know."

"That's ironic coming from you."

"How so?"

"During the ride here, you pumped me for information. Now it's you that have none."

Léna strove not to let her annoyance show. What she expected from them she didn't particularly want to communicate at the moment. After a lengthy pause, she said, "I am unfamiliar with their fighting abilities, if that's what you mean. They are Lady Amelia's personal guard... not quite death dealers, but I suspect motivated."

"And so they'll be protecting you, then?"

"Yes, but also the coven's interests... meaning that the covens are linked and so what happens here affects us there."

"Have they fought lycans?"

"Just Ádám has, as you probably know."

"Correct," he said, raising a cigar to his mouth with satisfaction.

"Fought an Elder before?"

"No."

"I have," she said. _Not with weapons, of course,_ she thought. She ignored his raised eyebrow.

Then the gate opener cycled and the Brazilians pulled up in a rented sedan. They got out and by turns looked around at what they could see of the courtyard and the keep. Orbán and Ádám found each other and greeted each other warmly. "What's going on, Orbán?" he said through enormous sinuses. Ádám's build and toothy grin made him resemble a pit bull.

"It's a mess, Ádám," he responded dryly.

Léna watched the exchange, and then Treva approached, holding herself against the chill. She had the usual vampire resistance to the elements but also a rail-thin physique to cancel out the advantage. They greeted each other with pecks on the cheeks under Orbán's watchful gaze. Laudro appeared and greeted Treva similarly. Oscar bustled up to usher the newcomers to their accommodations, but they wanted to stay in the courtyard to chat, and so Oscar instead collected only their bags.

Léna watched Oscar struggle with two oblong cases and then turned to find Xavier in front of her. Up until then, she'd actually enjoyed the comfort the brief reunification in this strange place had brought. She hadn't known how much she'd appreciated a familiar, friendly face in this time of confusion until they'd arrived. Xavier, however, showed her lost, deathly eyes, reminding her of how she'd felt just a night ago. Her own history with Xavier made her uniquely aware of how he felt at the loss of his lover. Léna became angry all over again.

Xavier didn't know that his last goodbye to Lady Amelia over a week ago was in fact the last goodbye. His dark hair, like his mood, hung lifelessly along the side of his unshaven and disheveled countenance.

"I'm so sorry," Léna said to him in Portuguese as they embraced.

After a moment, he looked up. "Me, too. How are you holding up?" he asked stiffly.

"I feel like you look," she said.

Xavier looked around. "There was no way I wasn't going to come," he said, and then walked away to rejoin Luz, who paced around the courtyard under the watchful eyes of Castle Víg's warriors.

Treva came back. "How are you?" she asked.

Léna just nodded.

"How did it happen?"

"Lycan ambush. She didn't have a chance."

"How did they know?"

"I don't know."

  
\--0--  
  
  
"So what's the plan, Lady Léna?" asked Ádám, gazing at her through small, hazel eyes. He'd the audacity to summon her to the Kolláristas' accommodations in the bowels of the castle. "Remember, I used to live here," he'd said by way of excuse.

"I recommend you report to Orbán," she replied formally. "Search teams are organizing to find Selene and Marcus."

"And?"

"Bring them in for trial, or kill them, I suspect." She leaned against the door jamb of the entrance to the room he'd been assigned with Xavier. Xavier and the rest at the moment were elsewhere and she suspected he'd planned it that way.

Ádám faced her from where he leaned on an inside wall. His face softened. "You know, I'm chagrined that my father's force was inadequate to protect your mother."

"Don't think that way. We don't know what happened out there."

He became silent for several moments, his usual swagger departing.

"Have you been in touch with the rest of your family?" she ventured.

"I spoke with my mother while we were in the air. She's fine."

Before she realized it, he'd raised his hand toward her face. Perhaps the circumstances, perhaps the lighting, perhaps just being alone together reminded her of earlier times. His voice had distracted her, but she caught herself. Her left arm intercepted his right and she gently, though firmly, pushed it away. "No, Ádám. Now is not the time."

"Can there be any time?" he said with mild sarcasm. An image of her mortal boyfriend came to her mind. It was good to think of him, but she suspected he couldn't help in her or her coven's present state. Ádám was of course aware of this and had tried to take advantage.

"I know you only too well, Ádám. We had our chance. But, thank you – no."

"I'm just being here for you. That's all."

 _Let's get away from your bedroom, shall we?_ "Let's not provoke each other, all right?" she said aloud. She turned away and began walking, keeping her arms crossed. Despite Ádám's annoying advances, she would rather have him and his compatriots there than not. Unlike her mother, she could only influence them by calling upon her skills, but they, like her, each had their own agendas. "Do your duty, Ádám, but do not touch me." _And don't talk to me with that voice that vibrates in my chest._

"You've inherited us, I'm afraid. We've lost... _I've_ lost something dear to me," he said as they strolled. "You represent your mother, now."

She shook her head in response. He seemed genuinely pained – a rare episode of honesty, likely possible only in her presence... or in the presence of her mother. "You need something to do, Ádám – a more appropriate focus for all of us."

"And that is?"

Léna took a deep breath and looked intently into his eyes. Slowly she said, "Find the lycans who killed my mother. Do what you will." Aside from having her body against his, wasn't this his greatest desire? Didn't he also want his long-denied vengeance for the death of his sister, Ophelia, at the hands of lycans last century? He disguised his blood-lust well.

"My will," he said absently and looked away for a moment in thought. "My will is _my_ will. I _appreciate_ the intent, My Lady."

 _Busted._ Léna had presumed that he shared her rage. This wasn't the response she expected.

"You and I are brother and sister, now, in survival," he said. "Tonight is for remembrance, because I've also lost a father, but not by lycans." He sighed and turned back to her. "Come with me, to the mansion, and help me bury my father."

"You hardly spoke of him," she replied. "His remains are disintegrated."

"Indeed?" he said sarcastically, seasoned this time with flaring anger. "Come with me to the mansion, Léna, and then you'll have your revenge by me."

"I'm sorry," she said, lacking anything else useful to say. "I didn't know you were close."

"It sounds like somebody else I know," he said, flashing her a final look and then striding off.

 _Indeed,_ Léna thought.

  
\--0--  
  
  
Ádám was not the only vampire to hatch the idea of revisiting the old mansion in Budapest. While Léna and Ádám had strolled about the castle, Lord Víg had authorized that very thing. The mission: recover artifacts, assess damage, and erase, as much as possible, any trace that vampires had once called the venerated place home – at least enough that anything found by the curious remained forever ambiguous.

Ádám and Léna emerged from the castle's depths just in time to join the party venturing back into town. All of the Kolláristas invited themselves, along with several of the mansion's late arrivals, and a handful of residents from Castle Víg. They crammed, with digging equipment, into four cars.

As they crossed Árpád Bridge and approached District III, both anticipation and dread stalked Léna. Coming upon the property, she felt once more inexplicably desolate. She was not moved to tears as before, but she was still surprised at how she felt the absence of the great mansion. _Perhaps it means more to me, in some unknown way, than I'd realized._ Upon their arrival, the charred, defeated hulk of Ordogház greeted them from beyond the gate. The familiar skyline was no more – a cavity of empty air now occupied the real estate between the front gate and the trees in the distant beyond. A single police cruiser sat just inside the yanked open gate, anchoring streamers of hazard tape. _Of course it's a crime scene,_ Léna noted. The pungent odor of combusted plastic, rubber, and wood still permeated the area.

"What do we do now?" Orbán asked, cigar clenched between his teeth.

"We'll talk our way in," said Léna.

She exited her sedan at the front gate. She checked her clothing – the death dealers of Castle Víg had given her an appropriate change of clothes at Ádám's prompting – black leather pants, boots, v-neck pullover and an open jacket. It would help. She approached the cruiser and stooped slightly to peer in, the halves of her jacket gaping open. A middle aged policeman in the driver's seat tilted his head and looked her up and down, then warily looked over at the four cars full of other pale, black-clad folk.

"State your business here," the one in the passenger seat said.

"Good evening, officers," Léna said pleasantly and offered her hand to the policeman in the driver's seat. She sighed deeply and looked at the wrecked mansion beyond them. "May we go in? Several members of my family died here last night. We were wondering if we could go inside and retrieve whatever possessions didn't burn up."

"You should have come during the day. This is a crime scene – we can't let anybody pass," the driver stated.

"A crime scene? Really? I thought it was an accident – somebody's cigarette or something?" Léna asked, looking at the men intently, feigning shock. The lengthening exchange only allowed her more time to look the men over and to decide whether she would have to bribe their way in or use other means. She could unlock any lock – or just force it if it came to that.

"Are you next-of-kin to Mr. Kraven?" the officer asked.

"Why yes – he was my cousin," Léna said, lying.

The officer drew his finger across his throat. "He was found decapitated. Something really strange happened in this house. There were lots of... mutilated, burned corpses. I don't want to say more, ma'am," he added, waving his hand dismissively. "We took the bones and... what were left to the morgue, didn't we?" he asked his partner rhetorically.

"Where are you from?" asked the other. "Your accent is strange."

"I live in Denmark," she said, lengthening the tall tale. "I grew up there."

"Who are your friends?" the driver asked, nodding to the cars.

"More relatives and one or two are my bodyguards," she said in a vain attempt at humor though feeling mostly sick. She straightened, folded her arms, and leaned on the car.

The driver grinned in response. "I think you're treasure hunters," he said through his grin.

"We could give you a cut," she purred.

The passenger in the cruiser bounced up and down in his seat in a chuckle. The driver turned to him and back. "Get out of here. If you can find anything in there, then God bless you. Seriously, my condolences to your family."

Léna forced a grin and thanked them. The entire exchange and the details the policemen provided had sapped her energy. It was all she could do to walk back to her car and Orbán. As they cleared the gate in their cars, the cruiser moved back to allow them to pass. Léna gave the policemen a wave.

"Perhaps the perpetrator will return to the scene of the crime," rumbled Ádám as they pulled up to the periphery of the pile of charred rubble and got out.

"I pray he doesn't," said Léna.

"Did anybody bring a harpoon?" Treva asked.

She glanced at Kou as they climbed out of their vehicles and wondered if he felt as sickened as she. If she had her choice, she would've preferred that the mansion burned to the ground, rather than the ghastly spectacle before her. The upper stories had burned and collapsed onto the lower, which still retained much of their structure. Kou and a team began to move away to the left with purpose. She called out to him and was directed to the right and around to the rear.

Luz trailed her and after a substantial walk across the cratered and littered grounds, she came to a disheveled wing of the mansion where she was most likely to find the Elders' vaults. After several false starts, they located a recess which had, once upon a time, been a stairwell leading to the below-grade basement and which recently provided a route for fire rescue teams. Léna seemed to know the way, if only from recalling when last she walked within the walls of the ancient mansion.

She suspected she would find three empty vaults where two of three Elders should have been. They crept into the inky blackness with only a single flashlight to identify obstacles such as collapsed walls and charred hunks of masonry, brick, and stone. These they pulled or hove aside as best they could. She thought for a moment that they should have brought more vampires to help – if not a backhoe. After an hour of pushing inward, they found a pocket that hadn't been destroyed and which led around a corner into the partially collapsed remnant of the Elders' crypt.

The basic structure of the basement was mostly intact, but the destructive power of the heat and the effects of hours of beams raining down had ruptured, caved in, or destroyed much of the stone work. She kicked dust and rubble away from the floor to confirm what she'd already known. Her flashlight revealed a large 'A' that marked the place where her mother had slumbered for nearly 800 of her 1300 years of life. She placed her hand on it for some moments and then retrieved the flashlight.

She and Luz returned to the surface and worked their way farther around to the section of the mansion where Kou, Ádám, Treva, Duncan, and others had excavated into the lower level where death dealers had been quartered. Outside, they had started a pile of weapons and other artifacts that they'd managed to extract from their old subterranean nest. They seemed to be bypassing personal effects of nobles in favor of death dealer artifacts.

The manager in her admired the death dealers' teamwork and the energy with which they attacked the challenging pile. It also reaffirmed that the trip that the Brazilians made had not been for naught. Here were her own people from home, contributing to the effort without thinking. It boded well that things would possibly work out. She welcomed the familiarity and stability in an otherwise chaotic situation in a foreign land. It would be good to see Rodrigo, too, she thought – but he was not of this world. She resolved to call him – so much time had passed, or had it? Being with him suddenly became less important now, but she felt a responsibility to let him know she was safe. He most likely had no idea of what was going on. None of the vampires here would've dreamed that on this night they would be digging as lycans in the rubble of an earthquake in their lives in search of scraps of memory to preserve – or more accurately, to hide from the mortal world.

A part of her mind thought: why not let them find the blades, shields, guns, and armor? Why not let them be found so that they, as a people, would be discovered and eventually assimilated? Would the pain of that be any worse than the secretive lives they led? Why not let the mortals become aware, and have it over and done with? What further loss could there be on top of what they'd already lost?

She stole a look at Ádám, who'd emerged into the night air with a stack of artifacts and weapons, and admired him once again for his strength and sense of purpose, even in the face of his own loss. She continued to wonder what thoughts roiled within him, now. So much of him was encased in a crass, coarse exterior. Ádám's reunification with Orbán had gone well; there appeared to be no hard feelings between the two former death dealers of Castle Víg. She glanced at him as she maneuvered past him, on her way to the opening that would lead to the warriors' residences.

 _Where will all of these surviving vampires go?_ Would they scatter amongst the minor mansions or huddle at Castle Víg with Marcus' lonely regent? What if there was a better place for them, where they could flourish without the need to look over their shoulder for hostile lycans or curious mortals? She glanced behind her, involuntarily, as she negotiated the stone steps leading to a ragged opening where a portal had once been.

"My Lady?" announced Kou, startling her.

The words echoed both in the tunnel and her mind, registering more deeply than expected, seemingly in recesses that she didn't know she had. She looked up from her momentary reverie and saw, in the meager light thrown out from the flashlights, Kou approaching with a large slender object held out in front of him. She climbed out of the pit and allowed him to bring the object out of the mansion and into the waning moonlight. She searched his eyes as he reached the top of the steps and, curiously, they smiled.

"My Lady," Kou repeated. "I found this below. It may mean something to you and it doubtless belongs to you, now."

She held his gaze, taking in the mirth, or perhaps pride in his eyes, and then finally looked more closely at what he held against his chest, the top concealed by his gloves. Then he held it out to her – an oxidized, broad curve of metal. It was a sword with a charred hilt – a rather immense, nearly two-meter long, implement.

She instinctively rotated the sword so she could read the inscription at the base: _"Property of Halldór, Anno. 1642"._ She felt the hairs stick out on her neck. "Thank you, Kou," was all she said, but she wanted to say so much more. Just touching the object unleashed a torrent of emotion within her. _My father's sword survived this holocaust._

"You can put it on your mantle," said Kou in response. "This is the sword that your father held when he was killed," he added, and then turned away in the direction of the basement access.

"You must tell me about my father and mother sometime," she said after him.

He looked back at her briefly, nodded, and then continued with his descent.

"I don't know about her life from before," she insisted, studying the sword as she spoke.

He turned and looked up at her once more. "All that you need know about your father is in that sword that you hold. And as for your mother – she isn't as easily explained. Get to know yourself and get to know the coven and you'll learn about how she molded both you and it. Your perspective isn't enough and reading Tanis' library won't be enough, either. Look around at the vampires that you see working here. They all knew your mother in one way or another and they care about the coven as she did."

 _I am my forbears,_ she said to herself.

"Your friends, the Brazilians..."

"Kolláristas," Léna interrupted.

"...are warriors that I would be proud to serve with. You can see it in their eyes. They'll fight to the death – for Lady Amelia."

"I did not know my mother as you did," Léna stated for the record.

"Perhaps some other time," replied Kou.

Something dawned on Léna. "You were Zsanett's lover."

Kou stopped his descent again, but didn't look at her. He then bent over, pulled a short knife from his boot, and held it up to her in his open palm. The writing was nearly worn away, but there was still an obvious 'Z' stamped on it, visible in the reflected moonlight. Then he put it away, rolled down his pants leg, and disappeared.

By the end of the night, the vampires had unearthed all manner of swords, knives, shuriken, parts of crossbow stocks, arrow heads, tools, and miscellaneous fragments of memory. They'd even found metal straps and locks for the vampire covenant books. In one important respect they were thankful that much had been burned – it made their task easier and left less for mortals to discover and puzzle over. They packed what they could into the car trunks. They planned surreptitious repeat visits as they had only so much time and manpower on this night. What they left, they consigned to oblivion – unrecovered and unremembered.

  
\--0--  
  
  
In the early morning of her bedchamber, Léna sat on the edge of the bed with the outsized sword resting across her bare knees. Even though it was near the time that she should be preparing for sleep, she resisted summoning Claire, preferring to dream awake. The sword was as wide as her hand in the middle, and chipped most there. Here and there she rubbed carbon off, leaving black rivulets in the whorls of both her fingers and the etchings in silver. She'd come back from the burned mansion a changed vampire somehow, but exactly how was as clear as the dusky smudges on the blade before her. Something else had come back with her that she couldn't cradle on her knees or hold in her hand.

She held a weapon of the will of Viktor in the war on the lycans. Though Marcus had destroyed Viktor's home, Viktor's essence survived in this and other implements of death that they brought back from the autopsied corpse of Ordogház. In its day, it had separated evil from good, unclean from clean, and lycan from vampire. She tried to imagine her father in those nights before metal weapons evolved into machines, when one had to rely on brute force and might to defeat a singular foe. As she imagined her father in the heat of battle, she sat perfectly still, holding the cold, blackened metal against her paleness. The cold of it seemed to seep into her as the soot coated her.

After a time, she decided her father's sword spooked her, so she rose to put it aside. She caught a glimpse of movement in the corner full-length mirror, startling her. For a moment it looked as though there was another person in the room with her, but she decided it was only some play of flickering candle light on her own reflection. "Claire?" she said aloud into the stillness.

She went to the basin to wash her hands. Such a mundane activity gave her mind a chance to wander once again. She'd met her father just once. It had been on the occasion of a brief trip that Lord Dömötör had made to consult with Council on some legal matter that her mother couldn't be bothered with dealing with at the time. Léna had made the trip out of curiosity about the place from where her kind had sprung. Halldór had long been a giant of a man in her child-like imagination and she'd found, rather abruptly, that her concept of him hadn't matured. While she'd confirmed he was physically impressive, he hadn't measured up in most other ways. He'd managed only brief conversations and furtive eye contact. She'd left thinking that she might as well not have shown up and that her expectations had been too high. After she'd returned, her mother treated her less harshly, as if something had changed. Léna also had come to realize that perhaps he saw too much of his former mate in her. She wondered if she'd been too eager to judge him back then. Perhaps Kou was right. In the end, all he'd lent to her was his height.

Afterward she returned to the corner mirror. She looked into her own eyes and of a sudden felt the strange sensation that she saw herself as she hadn't before. She wondered if a change in perspective or lighting showed her a new face, captivating her. _I must be tired,_ she thought, and turned away and rubbed her eyes. But then the image beckoned and she felt compelled to gaze back into the suddenly strange face before her. Her eyes had changed color, which wasn't unusual, but it wasn't right – they were _hazel_. Her hair had changed. She didn't recognize herself. _Who's that in the mirror? What's happening to me?_ She touched her face and confirmed that it seemed to belong to her, but the face staring back at her remained resolutely strange. _It looks like it could be me..._

 _But my eyes should be gray and my hair should be a darker shade..._ She realized in a brief flash of clarity, that her mind wanted to see her mother's face. For the moment it seemed more right than what looked back at her from the mirror. _Is this some kind of ghostly memory? Is what I want to see something disturbed in the embers of Ordogház?_ She turned away and cast an inquiring eye toward the old sword propped in a corner. She remembered it as it should be, clearly – bright and polished, with a hilt – _but how?_ Her mother's image then became liberated from the prison of the mirror in front of her and swam in her mind as if from a memory. Her memory became a mirror, and saw what should be there – gray eyes, dark hair, bird-like features – not the broad chin and fuller mouth of her father's genes. _Why is the past presenting this image to me?_ Blinking didn't help. Neither did shaking her head, so she fled from it. She walked to the far side of the room, away from the sword and the mirror, and closed her eyes. She fought her breathing back under control and her racing heart slowly followed suit. She opened her eyes and turned around. Expecting to see... not the room presently before her and that she found herself in. She remembered entering it a night ago, but... found, again, confusion at her own identity. It seemed as though alien, but strangely familiar, memories fought for possession of her.

Then, in her mind, another image of her mother appeared before her, framed in a full-length mirror in a style from another time. Léna, though frightened, dared not move for fear of disturbing the image that riveted her mind. Her mother's ancient face swam before her, familiar, yet different because she... _smiled_. Other pleasant memories, not just visual, flowed forth in her, then. Léna joined with her mother in this bliss, and after a few moments of letting it flow through her, she discovered why her memory smiled into the mirror. Her father had appeared behind her in the image, and Léna involuntarily glanced backward – _nothing_. Her father embraced her mother from behind, and a familiar calm came over her as she felt it, as well as saw it, in memory. She now knew, by some strange means, how much her mother loved Halldór. Léna wanted that moment. _Is it my imagination? Or a real memory? Is it something I just want?_ She began to gulp for air from the wonder at where she'd been transported and how she might be released.

"My Lady?" a voice said from somewhere beside her.

Léna closed her eyes as the memory extinguished. Then she opened them and turned toward Claire.

"Are you all right? Will you be turning in, soon?" Claire asked

Léna did not answer, but walked toward the mirror, which showed her own face as it should. The alien images and recollections had left her, but the alien sensation remained. Her breathing relaxed. The memory of her father and mother had retreated and she reached, blindly, after it. At first she'd been frightened at what she'd experienced, but now she wanted to relive it. She wondered what she could do to conjure it. "Would you summon Xavier for me?" she asked Claire's reflection.

  
\--0--  
  
  
As the night drew to a close and exhaustion and sleep took her, she dreamed once again. She walked through a rain-soaked wood and came to a wrecked castle. She entered and found a sealed well suitable for housing a hibernating elder. She flexed her arms wide, seized the lid, and hauled it away, revealing a chasm with a bottom laying somewhere out of view. Her sword sheath rested against the floor as she knelt and peered in. The glow of the moon, in turn, showed her only part-way down; the rest remained unseen. She imagined she could enter, scale the blood-slicked stone lining to plumb its depths, and eventually reach bottom. She grew confident that she had the means, given the abilities that her mortal forbears never envisioned, but the darkness beyond her eyes, in the vaginal cavity, frightened her. But she knew, far, far below, there must be a surface that she could see herself in.


	7. Daymare

_My Lady,_

_Was it glorious?_

_Did you curse them? Was it in Portuguese? Latin? Magyar? Was it as in the days of old, when you braved Ottoman hordes without and The Council within to defend us?_

_Did you score their bodies? I want to know – tell me more. Was it the sword? Whip of Lucian? Crossbow? Fingernails? Teeth? The thought of this makes the blood pulse in my jaws. I'm so eager to take up the fight, to finish what you started on that fateful train. I want to separate fur from skin, muscle from bone, limbs and head from body. I need to see the blood. This is all that I am and so many of us are the same way._

_Or was it by design? Was it all planned? Was it part of the larger plan that you always preached but so often did not practice? You've seen, see, and will see all. You've known, know, and will know all. You must have seen this._

_What is the plan, then? Did you decide, finally, at the end that the coven must continue as Lord Viktor and Lord Marcus said it must? I must know. Or do I already know? You did know me._

_Was there no other recourse? I would have been at your side. Or was that by design, also? Tell me more._

_I was your ally in the days of old as I am your ally now. Oh, let me inflict my punishments on your behalf. You cannot stay my hand, now. My body is now yours. Aim me._

_\-- Ádám_

  
\--0--  
  
  
In his stone seat in his redoubt at Cincu, he rested, with arms wide, encompassing all. He heard a cry and his arms pushed him to standing, allowing his sword to swing free next to him. Through the pillared audience he went to her, nearby. "Ilona," he spoke. Then he became _her_ , feeling a stirring within, then pain, and then release. "Minha Senora," somebody said. Then he went to a torchlit washroom, approached a basin, turned on a faucet, and held out his hands into the running, cold water. In the mirror, he examined his visage, unused to the color it gave him in the curious electric light. Most importantly the pieces were still there: the long and mussed hair, sky blue eyes, receding chin, and small mouth. He turned to his right in preparation for investigating a sound he'd just heard, perhaps a knock upon on the door. He reached for a hand towel and took one last look in the mirror... He withdrew his sword and went to her, reached down, and... deftly severed the umbilical.

  
\--0--  
  
  
Léna cried out and sat bolt upright, sweating in the cold air. _The fire has gone out,_ was her first thought. _Claire?_ She hoped she would come. She slowly turned in the direction of the bedchamber's corner mirror, anxious about what she would see. She shivered. Her own hazel eyes, widened in alarm, looked back at her. Her neck-length brown hair sat lopsided on her head. All was where it should be. _I'm going to be rid of these mirrors._

She revisited the sting of rejection that she'd felt when confronted by Xavier's firm "no" from the morning before. The rejection seemed to resonate more deeply than she thought it should, but she didn't know why. She knew she'd made a mistake and now felt suitably foolish. There was something more, though, that she couldn't quite put her finger on. Something else remained just out of reach, denied. She sighed deeply, held it, and then blew it back out.

 _Childbirth,_ she'd dreamt, likely her own, she realized. She remembered it now as if she had been the mother. Sonja, she remembered, too. _Cousins in memory._ Then it dawned on her that there might be a very good reason for the nightmares about lycans, the visions, and the strange presence she now felt within her. An alienness had come over her and it now seemed as much a part of her as not. _Am I dreaming or remembering? If it's my mother's memory, then how..._ She then came to a horrific conclusion: _I shared blood with my mother in the womb – and therefore blood memory._ It explained much, but she hoped she was wrong. _... as my mother shared blood with the dead mansion._

  
\--0--  
  
  
Lord Florian sat in his study, drumming his fingers on his desk. His office here in the country, in his own mansion, was a small replica of the more spacious version that he had maintained for over a century as chief of security at Ordogház. It was midday, when by all rights he should be asleep. The telephone calls, however, had left him so agitated that he simply stayed up. The last call had been from Selene, on a "borrowed" phone. He'd been at first shocked and then relieved to hear from her and to know that she was still alive. She'd then asserted, to his disbelief, that she had the ability to travel in the daylight and could he please send somebody to pick her up? She'd given him a location in a village in the southeast of Hungary. She would explain later, she'd told him. She _did_ have a lot of explaining to do.

"We're very hungry," she'd said.

"You're a long way from home," he'd responded. "Berettyóújfalu? How did you get there?"

"We borrowed a car," she'd said.

"Where does the car belong?"

"Porumbacu de Jos."

"Where's that?"

"Romania."

Earlier that morning, just after sunup, he had received a phone call from Lady Léna, who had been none too pleased to discover that her mother had been slain just as she was about to go to sleep. For some reason, Léna believed that he would be harboring Selene and that she was in league with the lycans. All of the remains of the coven seemed to assume that he would be involved. He was not close to Selene, never had been, and had no desire to be. She was a loose cannon, as far as he was concerned. She was Lord Viktor's protégé, and as such the lycan corpses piled up. Selene was as loyal to Lord Viktor as he was loyal to Lady Amelia. She hadn't been quite the same, though, after lycans killed Halldór and Lord Kraven, despite his affection for her, felt she had become unbalanced from the episode. Naturally, Kraven thought himself best able to cure her. Both he and Kraven, though, wondered what had changed in Selene. One thing apparently remained the same: Florian was still Selene's confessor as when Lord Viktor slept.

Florian hadn't been invited to the awakening ceremony. He _had_ been invited to retire three years ago by Lord Kraven and had felt that he would be a distraction if he'd shown up. From what he'd heard from various quarters, the night hadn't gone very well for Lady Amelia or Lord Viktor. In prior years, when he was himself a death dealer or in charge of them, he wouldn't have thought twice about launching his own investigation. He contemplated doing just that after catching wind that Lady Amelia had been murdered. But he hesitated, perhaps thinking that the death dealers in Ordogház had the situation under control. Perhaps he was in shock from the death of Amelia. Maybe he now simply didn't give a damn. His nominal successor, Kahn, led competently as chief of security. But he, too, was now dead...

But now it seemed the answers to his questions were nearly at his doorstep. He heard the muffled sound of the car driven by his mortal servant in the drive and he expected his guests shortly. He eased the heavy metal out of its sheath and placed it on the desk in front of him.

The familiar gait of Selene's boots, and one other, sounded on the hardwood floor in the hallway. Florian turned to his left as she arrived in his study doorway, resplendent in her form-fitting death dealer attire. What could have happened to put this slight woman in the middle of the cataclysm that had just befallen the coven?

"Good afternoon, Lord," she said simply, managing just the briefest eye contact before crossing the threshold.

Florian said nothing, processing the situation in his mind.

She took two paces in, revealing an unkempt male with blond hair, blue eyes, and a cleft chin.

Florian grasped the handle of his sword and lifted it up with a metallic whisper against the wood of his desk. He gestured in the direction of two padded armchairs in front of it. "Sit."

They both walked over and did as they were told. "You're not planning to use that on us, are you?" Selene's unkempt friend asked, eyeing the blade.

"Lord Florian, this is Michael," offered Selene.

"How do you do, Michael?" Florian said evenly.

"You know, I actually don't know how to answer that question," Michael said while squinting slightly, and in a voice that sounded as exhausted as he looked. "I don't have any frame of reference."

Florian raised his eyebrows and nodded, returning Michael's stare. "That's actually a very good answer. It would seem that our universe has been turned upside down, hasn't it? Yours, mine, Selene's, _and_ the coven," he said quietly.

"Maybe we shouldn't have come here," said Michael in Selene's direction.

" _No,_ " Selene insisted. "He's probably the only friend we've got." She shook her head as she spoke, causing her brunette locks to swish back and forth.

"Perhaps I don't want to be your friend, Selene," said Florian.

She looked taken aback, but just for a moment. "Lord, there's a lot to tell. If you'll just hear me out..."

She'd completely ignored him. "What would it accomplish? You've dug yourself into a pretty deep hole, from what I've heard."

Selene looked back at him with an expression of determination and a hint of disappointment. "I need you to hear me out. You've never refused to hear me out before. If you won't listen to us, I don't really know who else will."

Florian gave them a long pause and relented. Giving her a hard time had long been a tool of his – to make her think about her actions and the consequences. She'd long spoken her mind and didn't care what anybody else thought. But what had gone on in the last two nights was beyond his ability to frame into a lesson. "I'm all ears," he said with exaggeration. He put the sword down with a clunk on his desk, folded his arms, and sat back.

"All of the Elders are now dead..."

Florian felt the blood drain from his extremeties and suddenly felt cold.

"And so is William..."

"Who the hell is William?" muttered Florian, looking up at her with head bowed.

"William was the twin brother of Lord Marcus. He..."

"I didn't know Marcus had siblings," Florian interrupted.

"It's in long-buried history. It's one reason why Viktor always discouraged us from digging too far back. There's more."

"All right. Let's get it all out," said Florian, gesturing in her direction and re-folding his arms. Michael sat, mute, with his head bowed, occasionally looking sideways at Selene.

Selene set herself in the chair and looked back at Florian squarely. Uncharacteristic resentment, in his presence, showed on her face. "It would take a whole night to tell you everything. The most important thing I need to tell you is that Viktor killed my family – it wasn't the lycans. All this time..."

"Who said this to you?"

"Viktor. He confessed. Right before I killed him."

Just like that, she reported in, just like a death dealer would. If it weren't for the facts corroborated by others, he'd think Selene insane. In fact, their whole world had gone insane. "What do you want me to do?" asked Florian.

"I want to come back to the coven. It's the only home I know."

"After all that's happened, you still want to come back? Perhaps it would be better that you disappear."

"I don't have a family. I have Michael, and that's it."

"Well there's not much home to go back to," Florian said with a heavy sigh. "Lord Marcus burned Ordogház to the ground two nights ago, killing over 100 vampires inside."

"Jesus Christ," muttered Michael.

Selene parted her lips to reveal clenched teeth. There was a long pause as she met his eyes. "Were there any survivors?"

Florian ticked off names on his fingers. "As I understand it: Kou, Duncan, Márton, Haruye, and Patricia... and a few other lucky ones."

"Did Lord Kraven die?"

"Yes." Florian leaned forward and tapped his steepled fingers together over the sword on his desk. "I should tell you that the death dealers who survived are not very happy with you right now. I've been _asked_... by Lady Léna to summon Kou and Ádám to assist in subduing you _and_ your friend here should I see you.

"Léna is here?" asked Selene.

"Furious."

Selene glanced at Michael.

"You've attracted attention from two covens," Florian continued.

"This is why I need your help – you have to convince them not to hunt us down and kill us."

Florian gazed back at them for some silent moments. "You'll just have to convince them yourself."

  
\--0--  
  
  
In nearly the deepest depths of the castle, far away from the prying eyes of the members of the upper echelons, was situated a practice space for the honing of knife handling, sword handling, or hand-to-hand combat. There, Léna and Treva sparred together to work out stress in their lives and it was certainly needed after the experiences of the last nights. Though they had a small audience, they spoke freely in their own tongue. As she worked at diverting the energy of Treva's attacks, Léna unrolled the spool of unalterable memory of the prior eight hours, including the ham-handed attempt at seducing Xavier. Though the potential residence of Elder memories within the only living descendant of Lady Amelia was of greater consequence, Treva fixated instead on Xavier. She made her frustration plain by landing harder blows on Léna.

"It's far too early! What are you doing?" Treva asked, aghast. "He and Lady Amelia were together and she just _died_."

Léna pleaded that the mood had struck her and she'd thought she could have easily rekindled an old flame like flipping a switch. It was only half the story. Her normally astute perception and judgment had taken a holiday.

"Xavier is not like that. You just have to wait until the fire goes out," Treva advised.

Haruye happened upon them, watched them work out for several minutes with a scowl, then pronounced, "You won't survive long here with that!" She crossed her arms and left.

Treva blew a strand of hair out of her face and arched an eyebrow. "Looks like we're not good enough for the death dealers," she said mockingly.

"Can't fight, can't have sex..." Léna muttered.

They shared a grin, and then Laudro arrived next. "What?" he said in response to their look.

"Like a São Paulo train station," Treva remarked.

"My Lady..."

"Would you _please_ stop calling me that?" Léna snapped. The citizens of Castle Víg had been addressing her in that fashion since she'd arrived and it had rubbed off on Laudro. It reminded her of the deference paid to her mother, which she hadn't necessarily shared.

"Sorry," he said, and shook it off. "Just got some interesting news – Selene sent word through an intermediary that she's willing to come in to talk."

"Who was the intermediary?" interjected Treva.

"Lord Florian," said Laudro.

"I knew it!" crowed Léna.

"And there's something else: Lord Marcus is dead. Guess who killed him?"

Treva turned back to Léna and arched both eyebrows this time. "This just keeps getting more interesting," she chirped.

  
\--0--  
  
  
Selene had requested to meet at Lord Polgár's estate, probably on the recommendation of Florian. _Lord Polgár._ Her erstwhile contact, now dead, had once upon a time been a centrist amongst the nobles of the coven. His mansion, consequently, had been considered neutral ground for summits between fractious vampire clans. Léna knew this – and now knowing such a thing didn't surprise her.

Ahead of the mission, the death dealers of the castle had been roused. Warriors, who had been out and rather efficiently punishing lycans, had been called back. After an hour, Ádám had shown up with dusty, blood-encrusted clothing and mussed hair. Luz had returned relatively clean of lycan gore, but fear clung, shaking, to her instead. Knowing Luz, she would never admit to being affected by fighting the beasts, but her eyes betrayed her. Ádám pronounced himself pleased with her skill against the lycans.

Ádám cleaned himself up and Luz returned her jet black hair to its short, tight, ponytail. Léna sought the eyes of Xavier as they gathered around the cars in preparation for the trip to the late Polgár's mansion. He studiously avoided her gaze and so she resolved not to try again. She would leave him in peace, as had been the recommendation of Treva, her scolding friend.

They rode in the Volvo together in the caravan, with Ádám driving and doing his utmost to remain non-conversant. Luz tended to be normally silent, but occasionally would unleash a stream of idiomatic Portuguese when the subject interested her. Seated directly behind Léna, Xavier kept silent in his own world. _If Treva was here, this car would be hopping._ Xavier possibly grieved and Ádám was possibly still mentally in battle or... _Honey, how was your night?_ "How are you tracking them down?" Léna asked, suddenly.

Ádám straightened and looked at her sideways. "Them?"

"The lycans."

He gazed forward and replied with grim silence.

She nodded forward. "Death dealers tell me that months and even years of surveillance were needed to yield a kill."

He started to sigh, but then caught it. "Do you know why it took months and years?"

She shook her head.

"Because Lord Kraven knew where they were and sent the death dealers elsewhere."

"Why would he do that? How do you know this?"

"We found documents that survived the fire in Ordogház and which show very detailed locations of lycan hideouts." After a pause, he added, "Actually, I'm just assuming it was Kraven. Duncan and others suspected and it sort of explains why they had an advantage over your mother."

Léna regarded him warily. It almost sounded like a story designed to somehow entice her into bed with him.

"Have you shared this with Kou?"

"Yes, Kou and others know. Folks are confused and there's disagreement about whether to bring Selene in."

"So we're not arresting her?"

"No. We're going to size her up and then decide what to do."

"Why would Kraven lock her up if she was in league with the lycans and he was at the same time protecting the lycans from the likes of her? It doesn't make sense." _Perhaps there's more to why my mother left._

He looked at her pointedly. "Something was rotten in that mansion. Perhaps it was a good thing that Marcus destroyed it."

That was a retribution that was too much for even her tastes. She glanced back at Luz, who studied the scenery as it moved past the window. "Why were you so bloody when you came back tonight?"

"Oh, and I borrowed Halldór's sword – I hope you don't mind."

 _Guns aren't enough?_ She lifted an eyebrow. "Very symbolic." Considering what had transpired since the death of her mother, the killing of a number of lycans in such untidy fashion actually merited only a footnote. But it was a satisfying footnote and she didn't have to search far to know why. Behind her, she felt Xavier sulk. _I'm riding with Treva on the way back._ There was a time for sexual tension, and this wasn't it. She caught a glimpse of herself in the sideview and knew the blame lay there.

Upon arrival at the mansion, Léna left the sedan and followed Xavier and Luz across the cobblestone sidewalk toward the heavy double front doors. Ádám brought up the rear. She had faint feelings of déjà vu upon setting foot on the stone steps. When she reached the threshold, she heard Treva say, "Ádám, that's a mighty big flyswatter you've got there."

Léna spun around and faced him. "You brought it?" she said in accusation.

Ádám shrugged on the front step. "One never knows. It's cleaner than it was earlier this afternoon."

"That's a blade for killing lycans," she commented. That blood would be spilled hadn't entered into her mind; weren't they on neutral territory? With Polgár dead, perhaps not. She then realized that they didn't have a leader at all in this escapade – they'd all just piled into cars and descended on the mansion. Out of the corner of her eye, beyond Ádám, she saw Treva shut the car trunk and heft two atlatl sets. She would ask later how they managed to fit a two-meter sword into a car trunk. She turned back around and headed inside. As she entered and passed the front room, she heard Ádám's distinctive voice intone: "Behold, the daughter of Amelia."

"And of Halldór," said the man standing in the front room, close by, who she recognized though likely never formally met.

"My stepfather," Ádám mumbled. "I'll join you in a few moments. Here, Treva, you take this."

She paid them no further mind, but continued through the home in the central corridor. Before long, she realized that both in the present and in the past she walked through this mansion. Once again, present and past reality slipped in and out. She glanced into a sitting room as she passed it, and stopped dead in her tracks. Within, a man and woman stood, speaking. The woman, finely dressed, held a cigarette holder. She looked up as Léna stared. Then she remembered the woman, Adél, quite clearly from a difficult time years ago in the life of her mother. Her mother had condemned Adél to death for daring to conceive a child, as a mortal, by Lord Polgár. That child became Ádám, arriving as a full vampire upon the turning of his mother by Zsanett. Though three and a half centuries interposed, Léna felt the same contempt that her mother had felt at the time.

Adél smiled pleasantly and said, "May I help you?"

Léna recovered and said, "My condolences for your loss."

"Thank you, My Lady," she responded. "And mine for yours."

"Thank you," Léna said, and continued on. Her mother's memory notwithstanding, she'd never met this Adél before. Though her mother had taken issue with her once upon a time, it didn't make sense to continue the issue now, especially with three of four of the people involved dead, not to mention Ophelia, her second child.

Her strange remembrances also told her that the clothes she now wore, the lighting in the house, and the furnishings appeared wrong. The disorientation that she'd felt in the state room the morning before returned as her mind struggled to reconcile present and past images and sensations.

In a long ago time, her mother had dealings with Lord Polgár and his household and met here with other nobles to discuss other matters of life and death, of war, and of the future of the coven. Now she would attend a fateful meeting with an Elder's killer, an importance no less than those of long ago. Here they would decide if Selene would live or die by a host of death dealers armed to the teeth. Selene would come to explain, if she could, why she'd done the things that she'd admitted to. Léna felt especially in need of information. The killing of Viktor and Marcus began to hold a meaning as personal to her as the death of her own mother. The three pillars of the coven lived no more and possibly the coven might live no more – certainly not as it had. What right did Selene have to do these things that affected all of them? Their fate as a species rested in the hands of this Selene.

The garden behind Polgár Mansion was _not_ the way she recalled. A patio immediately behind the house yielded to snow-covered turf, then a short story of stone steps, and then another snowy expanse. Gardens lay beyond, just before the treeline. Sloping downward to her right were out-buildings, a swimming pool, and a pond. Old, stone walkways connected here and there. A spotlight reflected off the snow, casting criss-crossed, secondary shadows on the stage. The surviving cadre from Ordogház: Kou, Patricia, Duncan, Márton, and Haruye, waited in a clutch in front of a garden some distance from the patio. At stage center stood Orbán and several others from Castle Víg. Léna and the rest of the Kolláristas made their way to another area to the left of Orbán and Co. Surviving guards from Polgár's estate roamed around the periphery. After a few moments, Ádám emerged with József, who was both his stepfather and also the late Lord Polgár's assistant. Adél evidently remained in the house somewhere.

After a few more moments came the sounds of a vehicle arriving in the driveway and four doors thudding shut. The lawn came to attention and grew quiet in expectation. Shortly thereafter, Lord Florian, with Lady Asenath on his arm, appeared. He took in the crowd and nodded in satisfaction. After a pregnant pause, he folded his arms and boomed, "The usual suspects!"

"There they are," muttered Ádám as two others came forth and descended the steps: Selene and probably her accomplice Michael. Asenath returned indoors while Florian casually stepped aside. The way Selene negotiated the steps in her boots was out of another time and another place, suddenly reminding Léna of an aching empty, which this Selene couldn't begin to fill. The empty she could relate to, but she'd never met Selene... but she _knew_ Selene. She studied this Selene as she came into her sight, not behaving as she ordinarily would in _his_ presence. The Selene she knew would come to her, bow, and only speak in a certain way.

Florian made a show of noticing the woman passing him and said, "Oh? I see I'm not the center of attention this time." Léna heard Treva chuckle under her breath behind her. The congregation of death dealers, upon an inaudible signal, formed a wide semicircle around the guests.

Selene's attention warily went to the crowd gathered to see her. Patricia hesitated, and then strode toward her with her own trench coat fluttering. They embraced and in so doing, drained much of the tension from the situation. Márton and Duncan came forward, as well, to clasp her hands. Old warriors reunited and they seemed genuinely glad to see her, despite what Selene had done. Haruye and Kou stood back and observed from the sidelines.

Selene remained stoic through it all, perhaps faintly grinning as Patricia greeted her. The grin was certainly gone afterward as she considered the other death dealers arrayed before her. Orbán's group greeted her with a much different attitude and Selene simply gave them a respectful nod. Then she noticed Ádám and walked toward the Kolláristas. Lord Florian shadowed her with arms folded, perhaps preparing to call the meeting to order. "Hello, Ádám," she said. "Long time. I'd heard you might be here."

"Yes, indeed," he said, without warmth, taking a step forward to meet her.

Selene darted a look at Treva. "That's Halldór's sword," she said, almost conversationally.

Ádám nodded once. "Yes. It's just as sharp as when you beheld it last," he said without expression.

Michael stood nearby Selene, keeping watch on the death dealers positioned out of Selene's immediate view. He paced her, nervously, like a cat. He was the one who would change into a creature that Léna had never seen before, if provoked. He's the being who should not be – the _product_ of _his_ daughter and the creature Lucian. _Selene, my child, what have you done?_ Léna's eyes narrowed.

After Ádám's response, Selene's eyes, watcher's eyes, then met Léna's. Though small in stature, she had been nonetheless the sword in Viktor's fist. She'd been the silver in the kingdom of the lycans.

Selene's head tilted to the side. "You must be Lady Léna," she said. After a pause, she added, nodding, "You're a long way from home."

Cordial, but Léna thought the situation wrong – but still knew very well that it was only in the Elder memory that it was so. Then, beyond her ability to resist, the memory rose up and engulfed her. This was Selene before her, not saying the things she should say and not saying them in the way that she should. It was Selene, alive, but _he_ was not. Selene, in a state of affairs when _he_ was dead and his memory not. Léna wanted to know why it was so. Her emotions swirled and her face likely showed it.

Selene responded by furrowing her brow. "My condole..."

Léna suddenly drew breath and asked, "Selene, my child, why did you kill us?" _What did I just say?_ Léna gasped at her own question.

Selene, surprised, took a step back as the irises of her eyes changed into a hideous shade of white. She bared her teeth and began to breathe heavily. "You killed my family, you bas..."

Léna didn't see the backhand from Selene coming. She struck in less than an instant – the final syllable a crash of pain against her right jaw. She didn't realize she was airborne until she hit the ground at Xavier's feet. She heard hisses and snarls from all around and then shouting from Florian. "Weapons down! Put your god-damned weapons down! There will be no vampire blood shed here!"

Léna planted her hands in the snow and began to stand. In the corners of her eyes, Xavier and Luz had raised their atlatls, mounted darts, and trained them on Michael and Selene. Ádám had hoisted Halldór's immense sword, two handed, within striking distance of Selene. Others of Ordogház and Castle Víg had their own weapons out, reflexively, but seemed not to know where to train them. Michael, meanwhile, had transformed instantly into a green-skinned demon and crouched beside Selene as they moved back.

"That was insulting," Ádám growled, "knocking down Amelia's daughter, on my father's lands no less!" He and the Kolláristas edged forward.

"Ádám!" Florian shouted as if to a child.

Selene's eyes remained alight. "Running him through with twigs isn't going to hurt him," she barked through gritted teeth.

" _Silver_ tipped twig, perhaps?" said Ádám. "Want to find out? Our mortal forbears brought down mammoths with these, and we'll make short work of this beast that you have on your leash," Ádám growled, turning his attention to Michael. "And this sword has quite the reach – and inlaid with silver as you recall."

"Everybody calm down," said Florian, approaching. Léna was thankful that he, at least, tried to keep control of the situation. She'd never seen Ádám so menacing.

Selene and Michael continued to back away from the Kolláristas, exchanging wary looks with the other assembled death dealers. She, too had gone into a slight crouch. She'd come unarmed, probably at Florian's request. The beast, Michael, her only weapon, growled under his breath and bore his fangs. Ádám bore his own and hissed at intervals.

Léna wanted to talk to Selene, but events seemed so out of control that it wasn't going to happen tonight.

"I don't want to fight you Ádám," Selene said as she and Michael kept backing away.

"I didn't mean what I said," shouted Léna of a sudden. "I don't know where it came from." _Yes I do,_ she thought. It didn't seem to help. Léna wanted this whole mixed up episode to stop, but was at pains to do anything to make it.

"What did you turn into?" shouted Orbán, unhelpfully, at Selene.

More growling.

"What if I bite you?" Ádám growled. "What happens to you then? Do you know? Are you even a vampire anymore?"

 _This should not be!_ thought Léna. Memories and emotions spun in her head. "Ádám, stop!" she cried.

Kou and Patricia rushed forward then, interposing themselves between Ádám and Selene, halting the progress of the Kolláristas.

Suddenly, gunshots rang out. It had the desired effect. Nearly everybody crouched or hit the ground. The only immortal still standing erect was Florian, who held a machine pistol pointed into the air. He then lowered it and pointed it at Ádám. Gun smoke drifted across the host of vampires and mingled with their breaths. "Kou, Patricia," he said.

They yielded their space to him and then all grew quiet. Léna hadn't realized how much they growled and yelled until it stopped. Florian fixed Ádám with a glare. József retreated to the doorway and looked on with some distress.

"On whose authority are you going to shoot him?" demanded Orbán.

Florian glanced briefly at him and simply said, "Death dealer."

"On whose side?" replied Orbán. Meanwhile, Xavier and Luz moved sideways and repositioned themselves with atlatls pointed at Florian.

Florian ignored Orbán. "It's your choice, Ádám. Stand down or we do the lycans' work for them. A few less vampires would make them _very_ happy. No more vampires need to die by the hands of other vampires."

Léna walked forward and stood in front of Ádám, facing him. His eyes went immediately to hers. "Come, Ádám. Come back with me." She gently touched his shoulder and his features began to soften.

"Just doing my job, My Lady," he muttered, but with a sneer that exposed most of his teeth. He retreated and then Léna turned around to face Florian and Selene, who stood in a guarded stance several paces behind him.

Florian continued to glare at the crowd with his large, dark eyes. "That's better," he said, sarcastically. He glanced at Selene and then turned his attention to Léna. He holstered his weapon. "Would you put those down, please?" he said to Xavier and Luz.

Behind him, Selene's eyes began to return to normal. For a brief moment, she looked as lost as Léna felt – and perhaps not knowing either how to bring things back into rationality. She probably would rather be elsewhere, perhaps doing what death dealers do best. Vampires had for so long marched to the orders of Elders, but there were no Elders now. These were new times. New times called for new leadership, and perhaps what Léna witnessed was a necessary part of the process. But there was surely another way – anything was better than this garden party gone bad.

Florian startled Léna out of her thoughts with a bark. "Kou, Orbán: shall we have a discussion inside?" In her peripheral vision, Michael gradually returned to human form and retracted his nails. She kept up her staring contest with Selene as the men stepped forward. Florian turned toward the house and then abruptly turned back toward Léna. He glanced toward Selene and then back. "Ádám, you're invited, too."

Léna heard Ádám rumble and then plant Halldór's sword in the ground.

"You!" Florian barked and pointed toward Treva. "Keep an eye on those two."

Léna tasted blood where her own teeth had cut into her right cheek. She dabbed her right jaw with the back of her hand and noted blood there, too. She leaned over and spat, which drew a raised eyebrow from Selene in the distance. Michael glanced at Selene as she folded her arms and eyed the departing men.

As the men left, Florian hung back to let Ádám catch up. As they walked together, she heard Florian say, "What the hell are you doing here, Ádám?"

Léna didn't hear Ádám's response, but instead heard Selene say, "If they're going to be discussing me, I'm sure as hell going to be a part of it. Come with me, Michael," she said as she turned. He glanced one last time in Léna's direction and then turned to follow Selene. "There's probably a shirt that'll fit you in the house somewhere."

Standing in the garden while warriors discussed policy was out of the question as far as Léna was concerned. "You don't have to come," she said to Treva as she started off in the direction of the rear entry of the mansion. Treva offered no reply, thankfully.

She'd not proceeded very far when she noticed Michael had stopped near the steps and regarded her over his bare shoulder. She slowed down as well and kept two meters of space between them. He looked at her strangely and then she realized that he was trying to get a better view of her wound. She stared warily back at him. "You may proceed," she said.

"I'm a doctor," he said.

"There's no need."

He walked ahead slowly, but still insisted on talking to her. "Do you have somebody else's memories?"

They reached the house and stepped in, she now just three steps behind him. Farther down the corridor, Selene disappeared around a corner into the front room where Léna had seen József earlier. Almost immediately, her arrival prompted animated conversation between Florian and the rest. She felt drawn to Selene and thought she should be with her, but Michael stood in the way. He entered the rear room as if to divert her there and she found it occupied by Adél, József, and a servant. "Yes, I do," she responded and glanced down the hall where Selene had just been.

"Is it Viktor?" he asked, seemingly in a tone of voice that he tried to keep under control.

Adél, seated in a corner chair, looked up at him with an expression that was near to... pity, Léna thought. Adél then turned in her direction with eyebrows knit together to await her response.

Léna's eyes fell on Adél's. "I believe I have all three," she said.

The servant stood and stepped toward the doorway. "I'll fetch you a shirt, sir," he said.

Adél's face turned to stone and she slowly stood.

 _I would have never known your son had Zsanett carried out my order,_ Léna thought. "...Alexander Corvinus," Léna then heard Selene say in the other room. She looked in the direction of the meeting room which appeared to be separated from the room that she stood in by a French door. She stepped to it and pulled it open. "What did you say?" she demanded.

Four pairs of eyes darted in her direction. Florian looked around the room from his vantage near the lit fireplace. "We're discussing the circumstances of Selene's presence here with us. Can we help you?"

Léna took two steps into the room and stared at Selene through intervening centuries. If her eyes hadn't lit on fire, they were close. "Oh yes, Selene, please help me to understand."

The room remained quiet except for the wheezing and crackling of the fire. After several moments, Selene turned her body and eyes fully toward her. "He's dead," she said and then looked past her at Michael.

"Did you kill him, too?" Léna blurted out, taking a step closer.

"Léna," Ádám began.

"No!" Selene barked. After the others quieted, she continued, "Marcus killed him. He killed his own father."

Inexplicably, Léna grieved. Marcus' memory and reality didn't match and the memories of Viktor and her mother presented her with equal amounts of grief, horror, and pain. There was no escape – unless she left their presence. The room swam and she felt her knees buckling. _Before I die, I need to know..._ she thought in her grief-addled brain. "Is there news of William?"

Selene looked past her.

"I killed William," Michael said.

What Léna thought to say next would likely earn her another rebuke from Selene's fist, or perhaps a bullet in the head, but she didn't care. Nothing could be worse than the sensation of dying or watching a loved one die. _He was right to take your family from you._ But she didn't get a chance to say it because the room went gray. Something hit her in the head, hard. She realized later that it had been the wooden planks of the floor rushing up to meet her.

  
\--0--  
  
  
Selene knelt near the quiet frame of Léna. Ádám stepped forward and prepared to gather her up in his arms.

"Take her outside, Ádám," Adél commanded in a hoarse voice. "All of you, take your guns and get out of my house!" she said next in a voice rising to a shriek.

"Give us a minute, please, mother," Ádám replied. He pulled out a mobile phone and tapped a button. He chattered something abrupt in Portuguese and then slapped the phone shut.

The Brazilians arrived in short order, holstered their weapons, and carried Léna out into the front yard near the cars. A male asked something in Portuguese, looking at Selene pointedly.

"What did he say?"

"He asked, 'Is she dead?'" responded Ádám.

 _Partially, yes,_ Selene thought.

They unfolded her and laid her out, prone on the snow-dusted grass. The remaining vampires also exited the premises and Adél shut the front door with finality. Before long, she stirred, and then sat bolt upright, bewildered. Catching sight of Selene, Léna's face grew stern, and then she abruptly stood and lunged. Selene took a step back, planted her feet, and shifted her weight in preparation for a kick. A Brazilian female death dealer interposed, and grasped Léna's shoulders to guide her away. Then the interceptor seized Léna's chin and forced her to break wet eye contact with Selene.

"I know how she feels," whispered Michael, behind her.

"Me, too," Selene retorted, looking back at him. She waited for the commotion to subside. Finally, she turned, faced the remaining vampires and said, "Corvinus could've changed history. We wouldn't have had to go through any of this for so long."

"Through what?" Patricia said.

"Or you," Léna intoned.

Selene whirled. "Or you!" she barked.

"Guilty," Léna replied, in a matter-of-fact, though ragged voice.

 _Yeah? So? What are you going to do about it?_ Selene shook her head in resignation, turned, and walked past Michael toward Florian's car.


	8. My Selene

_Dearest,_

_Take me with you to the depths, as we did before, this last time. During our time together, I longed to see through your eyes, as I still do. It will be forever in life or forever in death. You made me, and in making me I became a part of you, unable to be separated from you. I will see you again._

_As you departed for your two-century slumber, I made a promise to be your waking guardian. I would remain awake as you would sleep, holding your sweet memory foremost in my thoughts as you vanished from the thoughts of others. I would look forward to the day when you would return to me – and I to you._

_Now, all that I have is the memory – the perfect memory – of you. You died, and that part of me that was of you and likewise that part of you that was of me, has fled. This change is as permanent as death and so it is death that I must meet in order to return to you, for you shall not return to me._

_I'll plunge after you as we did on Represa Atibainha. And when I catch up to you, I'll look into your blue-gray, still eyes and be washed away there. I'll be finally one with you, for eternity. Nothing shall disturb us there, as we swam in the century before. The world will pass us by, as the creatures of the deep ignore the spinning of time._

_You will rule again in death as you ruled in life. And I will be with you there, finally, as I'd hoped to be before. Peace is what you sought and peace is there. The conflict is finished. The train is empty. We have arrived._

_\-- Xavier_

  
\--0--  
  
  
Léna sat in silence, massaging the right side of her face where Selene's knuckles had lately connected. The other death dealers milled around the vehicles in the driveway, occasionally eyeing her through the windows of their sedan.

Ádám shut the driver's side door and blew a breath. "That went well," he mumbled. "How are you feeling?" he asked, looking at her sideways.

"Fine," she said, facing forward with her head on the head rest, looking at nothing in particular. The truth was, her face ached and her brain ached. She was emotionally and physically spent from the technical knockout. She was hoarse. Speaking Portuguese, she noticed, kept her from falling into the well of memory. "You were really going to kill him, weren't you?" She said, rhetorically.

"I still want to," he said, matter-of-factly.

"And Selene?"

"Do you want me to?"

 _"No,_ Ádám," she said emphatically. In retrospect, it didn't surprise her that a death dealer who had seen fit to kill two Elders would likely have no reservations about telling an Elder's daughter what she thought. Once all had time to calm down, perhaps she could meet Selene again.

Ádám looked at her for a long time. "Well, that friend of hers is part lycan, so I have no qualms."

"I don't think you want Selene as your enemy, Ádám. You shouldn't provoke her."

"So, you're taking her side? What _was_ that back there?"

"Mistaken identity," Léna said. Then she looked up with a start as Kou appeared and tapped on Ádám's window with a machine pistol.

Ádám powered down the window and looked up. "Yes?"

"Just to let you know – I got in your way to defuse the situation."

"Yeah. It's no problem."

"See you back at the castle?" Kou asked.

"Yeah."

"We'll plan tomorrow night." Kou then glanced at Léna and then walked off toward his own car.

She watched as Kou and Patricia got in and started the engine. Then she caught a glimpse of Xavier staring at her with a look of alarm on his face. She looked back at him in the back seat and nodded once upward.

At her prompt, he said, "Do you _really_ have their memories?"

She looked back at him sympathetically. "Yes," she said and returned her attention to Ádám. "Just in the last night."

"You sounded just like Marcus in there," Ádám said.

"I felt his anger." Then she changed the subject. "You know that's your mansion, now."

Ádám sighed. "Yes, I guess that it is. But my home is in São Paulo and I have no intention of being anywhere that you're not." He nodded at her and then turned the key in the ignition. "My stepfather can be the trustee."

"Speaking of home, how long have we got until daylight?"

"About three hours. Why?"

"I want to go to Castle Dömötör. It can't be that far."

"Léna," Ádám said, exasperated, "Didn't we just do the archaeology thing yesternight?"

"Do you have a hot date? Where's the man who spoke of remembrance last night – or does flowing blood make you forget? Just humor me, Ádám. I want to see it, even if it is destroyed. You used to live there, too. You _do_ remember where it is, right?"

"Who destroyed it?" asked Xavier from the back seat.

Léna turned her head to the side. "The Ottoman army." Meanwhile, Ádám pulled his mobile phone and called Treva to let her know of their whereabouts.

He snapped it shut and made a face. "Not many bars in these parts. Are you sure you want to do this?"

Léna looked at him for a moment in thought. "It's something safe. Plus, I've always wanted to roam around here to see what my mother saw. Now, I guess I don't really have to. But I want to revisit those places anyway. Do you know what I mean?"

"To give Viktor and Marcus a rest?"

"Something like that," said Léna. It wasn't far from the truth. After Marcus' and Viktor's memories had made themselves unmistakably known, she wanted to commune with something closer to her, if only for a moment.

"I'm almost afraid to ask this question – but do you see me in the Elders' memory? You said you have all of their memories, right?" asked Ádám.

"Oh yes. Actually, memories seem to be triggered based on who I'm with or where I am." She paused a moment and added, "I now remember you when you were sweet and innocent, a servant to the death dealers and an errand runner."

Ádám responded with a rumble.

"I remember a lot about Ophelia, too – and Halldór," she continued, gazing out the window.

"So, are you going to hoard history like the Elders did, now that you're an Elder?" asked Xavier.

"I'm not an Elder and I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't give vampires that idea. Vampires are freaked out as it is. I have their memories but it doesn't mean that I am one. But, to concede your point, there are things that are better left forgotten."

"Such as?" asked Ádám.

Léna just looked at him and raised an eyebrow. After a surprisingly short drive across small roads and farm lanes, they arrived at the wreckage of Castle Dömötör outside Apc.

"Used to take upwards of a night by horse," Ádám mumbled.

"This was where Lady Amelia lived during her previous reign?" asked Xavier as they took in the sight of the crumbled castle from the sanctuary of their car.

"Yes, this was it. For 62 years, this was her home. Your forbears also lived here. Then the Ottomans sacked it."

"Where did she go?" continued Xavier.

"Budapest. She stayed with Lord Gellért until the end of her reign."

"She didn't want to reign from Ordogház?"

"It was Lord Viktor's house. And... she didn't care for Lord Kraven," said Léna. "She wanted to be independent," she continued while gazing out of the passenger window with Xavier's own reflection in her peripheral vision.

The waning moon floated above the ruins in the crisp, clear night. Snow coated the hard surfaces, drawing the eye to sharp angles and crevasses of the shattered pieces of her mother's old home place. The last time she'd seen the castle in her mind's eye, she was fleeing from it on a horse. The ravages of vandals and weathering had left the once living Castle Dömötör with just a few intact low walls. Trees, bushes, and vines now claimed it, clamoring amongst the nearby strewn stone and on top of some of the external walls in their immediate view.

"How many vampires died here?" asked Xavier as they stepped out of the car into the moonlight. Ádám and Luz got out, too; Ádám folded his arms and leaned against the closed car door while Luz stood mute, peering around.

"Just a handful," said Léna, simply. "We put up a good fight. Many more mortals died, though." They strolled around the periphery to a vine-covered shell of a bastion to the left of the old front gate. Xavier followed her as she began to scramble up a nearby pile of rubble. Scrub bushes and small trees tore at them as they ascended. At the top, they stood side by side, looking inside the castle walls toward a riot of brush and trees that had worked their way into the stone. Léna took a deep breath and continued. "We actually let the Ottomans in, you see, because they came in the daytime and the mortals couldn't really defend the castle without us." She paused while she looked inward and translated the memory into words that Xavier would understand. "Then at nightfall, we came out of hiding and killed many of them and drove them back out. Death dealers came from Polgár mansion in the north and Somogyi mansion in the south to help us." Another pause to translate. "I blinded one of the Ottoman captains with the Whip of Lucian inside the keep, there." Léna suddenly stopped, realizing what she'd just said and how animated she was in telling the tale. She glanced at Xavier and forged ahead. "Then the following day we had to leave because I knew that..." She paused and winced. "We knew that the Ottomans were going to come and raze the castle. Even vampires can't stand against a thousand-man army with cannons." Tears rolled down Léna's cheeks again. "It was a beautiful place to live, but the Ottomans always hassled us. No lycan ever set foot inside."

"Why did you move here?" Xavier asked after a long silence.

Léna returned from her thoughts and said, "Viktor selected this location and had the castle built. Besides, these are our lands. We live here." Then she turned to him, but he had his eyes downcast. He turned away from her and gazed in the direction of the field of rubble. It dawned on her that he probably tried to join her in the well of memory. To break the spell, she said, "Forgive me, Xavier. I'm just letting the memories speak."

He continued looking away in silence.

She sought his eyes, and then poked at his arm. "It's still me – Léna," she said. "I'm just reaching down into a reservoir of memory. The memories are my mother's, but the interpretation and the telling are mine."

"You were her for a moment – I could tell. I want her back so badly," he said.

Léna felt as if her heart would break. "I'm so sorry – we shouldn't have come here."

"No," he said, straightening. "My Lady, I would rather be nowhere else than with you, now," he added, echoing Ádám.

"I miss her too, of course," she said as she glanced in the direction of the car. "But I've got all of her memory, except for the past 100 years."

"But then she doesn't remember me."

" _I_ do, Xavier." She looked toward the east where the sky lightened with the coming dawn. "We'd better go." Xavier began the descent from the destroyed wall and then looked back up at her. "I'll catch up to you," she said.

As at Ordogház, the shattered husk of her mother's late castle provided access to a rich memory within. Like one of the new trees sprouting there, Léna drew the essence upward, indiscriminately, to be put to some use, be it for good or ill.

Gazing there, in the safe, dark, amniotic calm, away from the cacophony, she saw the castle for what it once was. For what it was worth, she visualized a mirror and said into it, _"You're not dead. Your memory is just elsewhere. The vessel is broken, but you escaped. Just like what you see before you. I am cut from the womb of Ordogház and you with me."_ Within, she saw _her_ people... _her_ mortals... _her_ vampire army created in the mass turning by _her_ and Zsanett. Then _she_ turned, ahorse, and fled with _her_ death dealers... and with _father_.

Léna watched as thousands of dawns approached and the moon spun through its phases – again and again – like the blinking of a lycan's eye. Trees grew up – and died – around her. _Never again,_ she thought. There would be no more running. _I will build the castle again, Marcus. My body, my castle, my coven, my lands – each shall rise again._

  
\--0--  
  
  
"You _struck_ an Elder's _daughter_." Florian nearly bellowed, gesturing with one hand while passably driving with the other. "Maybe you _do_ have a screw loose."

Selene sat in the passenger seat, looking at him through her black bangs. It wasn't really what she had thought would happen at the mansion – at the most, snarls and angry words would've been directed her way. Decking Lady Amelia's daughter was one of the last things she'd thought would transpire. "You heard what she said. You know what Viktor did," she fumed, well past the point of articulation.

"It's really bad form to pull a gun on a vampire...and I pulled a gun on Lady Amelia's protectors," Florian said emphatically. "I came _this_ close to shooting Ádám, Ophelia's brother, in front of his stepfather."

Selene abruptly faced forward and said nothing. Michael and Asenath watched the spectacle from their vantage in the back seat.

"Where is your off switch?" Florian began waving his arms again, glancing at her as he drove. "Lycans killed your family, or so you thought, and you tore up the world. Now, Lord Viktor killed your family, and you're going to tear it up again?"

Selene shuddered. Léna had sounded enough like Viktor at that moment that her skin crawled. That Viktor's memory would live on in some form or fashion was not something she'd ever considered in her wildest dreams – or daymares. To think that it could survive and be so specific unnerved her. "I thought he was coming back," she said. "Did you hear what she said to me?"

"Yes, I heard," said Florian.

"She's feeling the memories within her," said Michael from the back. "She's not Viktor or any one of them. She sees their memories and they feel like her own. You'd feel something if you suddenly acquired a memory of your brother and then you find out your brother is dead..."

"Michael," Selene said, trying to stop him.

"...and the person that did it," Michael said more loudly, "is standing right in front of you."

"Great! We have two Selenes, now," spat Florian, banging the steering wheel and gesturing at the windshield for emphasis. The car jerked in the roadway.

"So what do we do about her?" asked Selene.

"Do about her? I don't know," said Florian. He suddenly pointed a finger at her. "Don't get any ideas."

Selene dropped back into the curve of the seat. Beyond slugging Léna, she'd actually not given any consideration to what would happen if she needed to cross paths with her again.

"Do you realize," Florian said, "that now that all of the Elders are dead, nobody knows how to perform turns without killing a couple hundred mortals? The only way that new vampires can be created now is by reproduction. And do you know how often that happens, Selene?"

"Not often," she muttered.

"Pretty fucking rarely," said Florian.

"So we have to protect her. Is that what you're saying?"

"I don't know. Any vampire is worth protecting. But if any vampire knows how to do turns, then she knows, since..."

"She has the memories of the Elders, who knew how," Selene said for him. She'd leaned forward again to speak, but then sat back again. The discussion of practicalities made her relax somewhat.

"Now what are we going to do about _you?_ " Florian asked.

"Me? I can take care of myself," she countered, taken aback, risking a slight smile, and not sure if he was joking or not. He seemed not to be in a joking mood.

"You think so? What are you going to do with yourself? Kill lycans?"

"If necessary," she said quietly. "Same for vampires."

"Oh?" Florian said with sarcasm. "I'm glad you don't discriminate."

"Florian, she just saved the world last night. Go easy on her," snapped Asenath from the back seat.

"Selene needs something to do," Florian responded.

"Lord, to be honest I haven't thought about any of that," Selene said. "As you said, everything is changed..."

Florian rubbed a spot near his lower lip and continued to drive. "Always thinking ahead," he muttered.

"Any suggestions?" Selene said pointedly.

Florian snorted. "Since when have you listened to me? And do I have anything to say to you _now_?"

Selene fell silent and sat back in her seat again.

"It's a whole new world with all new players – unexpectedly so. You two – you and Lady Léna – are whole new unknown quantities. Oh, and of course Michael," he added, hooking a thumb backward in his direction. "We lost three Elders, but now we have three brand new... special immortals, for lack of better words. Vampires, and by extension lycans, are going to fear you and at the same time want you for themselves."

"And Lord Víg has one prize – and will, perhaps, seek others?" asked Selene.

"Or eliminate others? What kind of fellow is he?" asked Michael.

"I don't know," replied Florian, ignoring him, "and I don't think anybody else knows, what's going to happen or who will do what. My opinion is that we fight each other at our peril, as I said back there."

"So why don't we just not fight?" offered Michael.

Selene turned around and looked at him.

In the lengthening silence, Florian spoke up. "I'm going to put out some feelers to the other nobles to see what state of mind they're in. We certainly could use new leadership."

"Víg may be just now realizing what he's got living in his castle and is thinking of what to do about Lady Léna," Selene offered.

"We should be, too. We're not out of this yet," said Florian.

"So," she said, looking back at Michael, "we can't afford to let our guard down."

  
\--0--  
  
  
She grew quiet as Ádám guided their car up the lane and through the castle's gate with minutes to spare until the sun broke over the horizon. As the old castle opened its doors wide for her, she opened herself to old memories of it. This occasion felt more like a homecoming than her initial visit, riding as a passenger in Orbán's car. The anticipation of their arrival kept the embers of Marcus' memory warm, but now that she was within, they were set alight once more. The memory's presence didn't engulf her as before, but she sensed its presence as if a heavenly body whose pull on her proved difficult to resist. She perched on a precipice at a dizzying height.

As she slowly stepped out of the car and stood, she gazed upward at the gradually brightening silhouette of the upper reaches of the castle. The torches that she remembered lighting the plaza were no more; electric spotlights stabbed into the dark instead. Ahead of her, waiting in the open light lock with folded arms and stern expression, stood Treva. Xavier glanced at her as he walked past her on the way to the lock. She returned his gaze for a moment. "Xavier, wait."

That drew a look from Ádám, who paused in his stride. Luz paid no mind and then Ádám followed her after a moment. Xavier's eyes brightened as she waited for Ádám and Luz to get out of earshot.

The clash of past memory and present reality induced a slight vertigo and so she kept one hand on the open car door. Xavier listened attentively. "When you get settled, I'd like to see you – upstairs."

He opened his mouth in preparation to protest, but she cut him off.

"It's just to talk. It'll be nothing more, I promise."

He set his jaw. "All right. I'll be there in 30 minutes. Come in or you'll roast."

She'd seen the sun plenty of times from behind the barrier of protective glass in her office, but she thought of Selene and wondered what it must be like to cross over into the naked day and not pay the penalty for it. It would be truly liberating, she thought.

Marcus had relished his freedoms when reigning and celebrated being a vampire in any way he chose – so long as he didn't break any of the coven's laws, which many times coincided with Viktor's wants. Castle Víg had been Marcus' domain and he'd taken pride in it as well as all that it contained, both objects and people. Technically, Lord Víg had been the host of his reigns, but Marcus appropriated the castle and lands for his use and enjoyment. It stood tall and strong, still, in its 6th century of life – and in considerably better repair than Viktor's old mansion and her mother's abode farther east.

He couldn't truly be free, however, so long as his twin remained captive. Despite all that he'd done and all that had been available to him, he'd never located William. Léna wondered what brief freedom William had before Michael had taken his life. What did he do in those moments before death? Selene would know, but better to let William die than to try and resurrect his memory. _Then, my brother, you shall run no more._

Her sore jaw and head reminded her again of how things had become quite different in the coven – now against all expectations. Having all of the answers _per se_ had its benefits, but the apocalyptic changes rendered much of what she had gained irrelevant. The old order existed no more. In this, Viktor remained victorious, ruling The Present, while ignoring the past and paying the future no consideration, to all of their peril.

She joined the other vampires, both of the New and Old worlds, in the light lock. Surrounded by the Kolláristas, she remained in control. Orbán, however, stood nearby, and so did the endless memory well. She stared at him deeply, seeing him in a whole new light. He sensed her stare and responded by glancing at her and nodding. She supposed he now saw her in a new light, as well.

Completing the transition, she left the lock and made for the wide steps on the far side of the plaza. Treva pursued her and attempted to talk her into a round of sparring. "I've had plenty of sparring tonight already, but thank you," she said.

As she ascended the stair and vertigo visited her once again, Léna wondered if she was leaving something behind – permanently. She entered her state room and went to her full-length mirror in her bedroom, wondering what she would see.

Next, Claire appeared near her, almost out of thin air, startling her. "Shall I dress you for bed, My Lady?"

"No, not yet," she said. "Xavier is coming."

Claire mouthed the word, "Oh," but no sound came out. She suspected Claire anticipated something occurring that she had no intention of letting happen. "Yes, My Lady," she added. "Call me if you need anything."

Léna thanked her and went out to the living area and to the desk. Laudro had found an internet connection and had obtained some contracts and other paperwork needing her signature. Resourceful he was – even in the wilds of northern Hungary. She sat and thumbed through the papers, grateful for the moment to be immersing herself in something besides vampire history. She propped her elbows on the desk, folded her fingers together and rested her chin in them. The throbbing where Selene had hit her was nearly gone.

Then he appeared in the doorway – the mere sight of him lifted her spirits, just as they had years ago in their white hot, though brief, passionate nights. He was a welcome sight in contrast to the sense of loss that the Elders' memories presented to her. She stood and held his gaze as he walked toward the desk. He seemed to stand taller and straighter than just hours ago – a not unwelcome sign. Perhaps he drew some strength from the knowledge that his lover's memory wasn't extinguished as he'd once thought, though her body be lifeless. "You know, all of this regal behavior is a bit strange," he said.

"Well, you know... when in Rome...," Léna said.

"Or Rome is in you," said Xavier. He put one thigh up on the edge of the desk and rested his hands on it.

"Yes," she said without further comment. She read expectation in his eyes, suggesting to her that he saw his Lady Amelia within her. She wasn't the only vampire having problems confusing the present with past memory.

"I'm here, at your service," he said in the lengthening silence.

Léna sat back down and tore her eyes away from his, dropping down to view the neat, orderly rows of figures on the documents before her. "I called you here to ask a special favor." Her eyes drifted up and found his again.

"I'm happy to do just about anything." he said.

She managed a short laugh and then turned serious. "I know this is going to sound silly, but I have to ask you something..." She smiled again, in spite of herself, as his eyes held hers.

His face fell and he leaned away from her slightly. "Léna, you know I can't – not after what's happened..."

"No, this is different," she said, cutting him off. She studied the desk once more. "I'm not talking about what happened yesterday."

Xavier relaxed a little, but not entirely. If it wasn't for her prior knowledge of his body's reactions to things, she wouldn't have noticed. "That's a relief," he said, looking at her intently but warily. "What, then if not...?"

Silence grew in the room. She drew a deep breath in it. "I know we are not what we once were... but we still share something as vampires."

"Of course. You're not really telling me something I don't already know."

"I'm not sure you're understanding me."

"Please translate."

"How about love of our kind, trust, loyalty?" she asked with a shrug.

"Where are you going with this?"

"Look at me. Look at what I am and what you are, not what we were."

"All _I_ know is what we once were. What am I to you if not that?" he asked.

"Kollárista."

"And you're an Elder."

"Not quite."

"Oh. That makes it simple," he said in exasperation.

"Look at me, Xavier."

He did, finally, seem to. She stood again and stepped around the desk to where he perched. He focused on her eyes, seemingly not sure of what to make of the situation.

"Now listen to me. You know whose memories I now keep."

"Yes."

She looked at him quietly for a moment, and then said, "I have our world – the vampires' world – within me, but it's something that I didn't ask for. And suddenly I find myself thinking not as I am – or was."

"Hence tonight," he said.

"Yes. I've been awakened, but I am not an Elder, Xavier – and I'm especially not one in your presence. That's because you're from the New World and...our history, yours and mine, keeps me focused there – if that makes any sense." She stopped to let what she'd said sink in. Then she grasped his hands. "In days of old, death dealers were called upon to be... executioners of other vampires when needed."

Xavier's eyes grew wide. He tried to disengage, but she held his hands captive.

"Kollárista," she whispered. "Listen carefully: if by my actions the coven is set on a course to destruction, I want you to cut me down."

Xavier abruptly got up and walked away several paces. He reacted as she'd thought he might. "Why? I can no more kill you than kill myself, Léna!" he exclaimed, but in a whisper, almost a hiss.

She took two steps toward him. "If you love... the coven, Xavier, you must trust me because I'm afraid I may not trust me later."

He recoiled. "The coven is destroyed! Why don't we just leave? Treva already has her bags packed."

"I cannot. I must finish what was begun."

"What?"

"The work of my mother. But if it goes wrong, I want you to complete what the lycans began on the train. You'll be my Selene."

"Selene hated Lord Viktor. Hates him still, from the looks of things."

"Only for six minutes and then she killed him. She loved him for six centuries before that. You love me now, but if you begin to hate me, then you know what to do."

"What if I cannot?"

"Or put me on the plane and send me back to Brazil. Let Treva have her way."

"If I kill you, then I, too, will die."

"Or perhaps you will live, as Selene has."

"I'm not sure that makes any kind of sense. I will see to it that you live, My Lady." Then he stalked out, angry.

After he left, Léna had Claire run a bath. Within, she recalled the afterglow of her time with Xavier.

 _I'm the last link that he has with his love. Of course he can't kill me,_ she thought. She kept asking the impossible of him, yet he still remained... _Except_ when it came to deciding between her and her mother. _Whither Ádám?_ She knew he still cared about her, but she couldn't ask _him_ , because he would ask too many questions. Luz and Treva were out. It had to be Xavier – he was her only hope if it ever came to that. She hoped not. _Why did I ask this of him?_

She'd been intimate with both, once upon a time. They were so unalike, yet she'd managed to bed them both – Ádám first. She'd taken up with Ádám, even though she'd suspected that he was also at the same time her mother's lover. After awhile, she'd decided simply, "I don't share," and that was it. He'd denied it up until the very end and beyond.

She loved Xavier differently. He had been gentle with her as Ádám had been rough. But, alas, her mother had found him, too – and so she'd parted ways with Xavier. Triangles were one thing, but with her own mother included, she'd bowed to the Elder. Lately she was with Rodrigo, faithful, mortal, and finite. Now her mother was dead... mostly.

She'd been happy with them both, but she'd wanted all of them for herself. She'd never been polyamorous, unlike many vampires.

Gazing at her dancing reflection on the water, she opened her mother's diary of memory – and meticulously compared notes. The time with Halldór drew her attention, especially. She now knew her father in ways and from a perspective that she never would've had if her mother lived. Her mother had loved him, defended the coven with him, and cried for him. He'd ultimately faded from her, even before her 17th Century reign had concluded. Léna tracked him through the memories of Marcus and Viktor after that – and then nothing until her own fateful visit to meet him in person. She wanted to believe that her mother never stopped loving Halldór, even after they parted ways and she took new lovers a half-world and a whole reign away. He still lived within her in the days of old memory, for he'd died just 11 years ago – that particular fact unremembered.

  
\--0--   
  
  
She seemed not to know what to do with her hands, so he held them. Florian had disarmed her and they had gone to Polgár mansion with only their hands and their wits. In one sense, it had worked – they'd made it out alive, again.

Now came the second dawn in six centuries for Selene after the sixth horrifying night for him. It had started innocently enough – just a gangland shootout in a subway station... "Has your life always been like this?" Michael asked.

"Oh no, Michael," she said, shaking her head. They sat on a stone bench in the garden of Florian's estate, waiting for the sun. He was eager for it to come to them and to warm her again. "We would go, sometimes, literally _months_ and even _years_ without taking lycan lives." She grew quiet against him and then she turned to him and said, "Here it comes." She was almost giddy. Any kind of release was more than appropriate considering what they'd experienced in the last nights.

Then her smile broke over her teeth as the sun broke over the rolling field to the east. Her shadowed eyes animated as they were illuminated. New flecks of color danced in her irises. "We'll have to introduce you to sunscreen," he said.

"Shhhh," she responded, gently. She evidently wanted not only to see the sun, but to hear it.

He obliged her and she held on tightly. Then it was over.

"I hope I never get used to that," she added.

Indeed. Selene was the sun in his eye and he hoped never to grow accustomed to that either. He had something to treasure in this slow warming up of him, after Samantha. Selene, too, had things to relearn. He wondered if they would feel the same about each other now that the killing was apparently over. He'd gotten his wish and they had not, for now, fought the other vampires. Perhaps all were tired of conflict and had decided to step back, rather than kill them on sight. A tense day and evening of foreboding, of not knowing, had ended well. The challenge though, for Selene, was in how she would live her life knowing that the memory of Viktor lived on, even after she'd taken his life. He hoped she wouldn't feel compelled to try and kill Marcus and Viktor again.

Selene's toothy grin departed as he finished his daydream. "It's time to get some sleep," she said, and rose, holding his hand.

"Slow down," he whispered and she looked abruptly back at him. "Nothing is going to happen today," he added. Together they strolled, hand in hand, back up the slope toward Lord Florian's mansion. Part-way up, the tension on her arm relaxed somewhat and _he_ began to lead _her_. "Ever make snow angels?"

She looked at him quizzically. "I don't know what they are."

"Ever take a vacation from being a death dealer?"

"No," she said softly and looking as if he'd asked a silly question. "It's what I am."


	9. Conversations

Léna startled awake in the midst of calling out. Her ears opened in time to hear the echo of her own voice returning to her from the walls of her bedchamber. She turned her attention toward the full-length mirror beyond her left foot. It remained shrouded by a spare sheet that Frida had thrown over it before she'd retired in late morning. To her immediate left, the clock on the nightstand said 1423 – far too early for her to be awake and hungry.

In the nearly-dark bedchamber, a silhouette of a figure appeared in the doorway, backlit from the glow of the fireplace in the living area of the state room. From the outline, Léna quickly identified Frida.

"May I get you something, My Lady?" she said quietly.

"Dress me, Frida," Léna replied.

"Any preference?"

A gown seemed appropriate, but then she caught herself thinking as her mother had once upon a time. "Just slacks and shirt," she said instead.

Léna carefully stood, warding off a brief flash of dizziness. _I wonder if the quality of blood is poor,_ she thought. It might explain why she was hungry – her body needed something. Frida attended to her while she sat on a bench, and after she'd put on Léna's turtleneck, she suddenly became aware of Frida's touch, smell, and tantalizing closeness. As Frida's hand grazed her neck to pull her hair out from under the shirt collar, Léna abruptly seized her arm. She lifted Frida's arm upward and placed her cheek beside it to both hear the pulse and smell her human-ness. All she needed to do was to tap into the vein to have what she wanted.

"My Lady?" Frida said softly and attempted to pull away.

Léna held firm and lost herself in the smell. While holding her arm with her left hand, she began to stroke Frida's forearm with the fingers on her right. Her eyes began to itch in anticipation.

"My Lady?" she said again, more loudly and this time, pleadingly.

 _Nobody will ever know..._ "Shhhh," Léna breathed, in an effort to settle the chambermaid down.

"My Lady, please!" Frida insisted.

A shadow crossed in front of the doorway, distracting Léna for a moment. Then a taller body approached, closer, this time fully blotting out the light from the adjacent room. Larger, firmer hands surrounded Léna's grip on Frida's arm and set about gently prying her fingers off. Léna looked up into the brown eyes of Claire. "Take _me,_ My Lady, instead," she said.

Movement off to Léna's right caught her attention and she reflexively glanced in the direction of it. The movement turned out to be her own reflection in the portion of the bathroom mirror that was in her view. She abruptly let go of Frida's arm. She stood up from the bench and rounded on both of the mortals. "What's wrong with you?" she said.

"Are you well, My Lady?" asked Claire in a sterner voice than she'd ever heard from her before.

Léna recovered. "I'm going downstairs. Don't wait up for me."

"As you wish," Claire said, back in her usual tone of voice. She bowed slightly.

Walking through the living area, Léna noticed Luz, asleep in a chair near the fireplace. She then spotted Luz's Bowie knife in a holster on her hip and decided a weapon was in order. Her father's sword was too large to be hauling around the castle, so she unsnapped and lifted Luz's knife as she slept. She reached the door to her state room and supported herself on the jamb on the way through.

She arrived at the plaza and made for the stairwell that led to the lower levels and thence to a corridor near Marcus' old audience. Though not fully awake, she nevertheless made an effort to walk with some purpose. She touched walls here and there to steady herself as she traveled. She encountered few living souls about at the un-vampire-like hour – fewer than a handful, each, of vampires and mortals.

The dream, which had abruptly jolted her out of sleep, bore first-hand investigation. She wanted to know if a particular memory would remain a memory, at least, be it forgettable dream no more. Memory would challenge memory.

In one of his best performances, Viktor had pleaded, _pleaded_ to Council to put a stop to it. She would find out for sure. Hunger drove her below to indulge and to imbibe. She knew where to go in the castle to find it – past Lord Tanis' old library and past Marcus' audience where immortal portraits endlessly stared at each other. She descended, flight after flight, deeper into the well of memory. Finally, she reached the deepest corridor which connected the audience with the library, the dungeon, the furnace room, and... She hadn't walked far down the corridor before she smelled mortal food in preparation. The mortals must eat for the mortals must live. _As go the mortals, so go we,_ her mother had said. For vampires it was the same and this is where old vampires found their food. She salivated and her pulse quickened in anticipation. _He_ would not feel these things, being as straight and as cold as the steel sliver in her hand.

She saw it, then, in a recess in the wall – a tap situated above a smooth stone bowl which in turn drained through a small channel downward to a sewer. The apparatus appeared the same as before – gold inlaid with a jeweled grip. On a shelf, also in the recess, sat familiar silver cups, though more worn than she remembered. She grasped the lever on the tap gingerly, and then leaned in and pulled. Blood rushed out and filled her mouth. _Blood for vampires must not come from mortals,_ Viktor had said. Behind the wall, she knew what she would find. _I'll bleed these mortals to impress my point upon these immortals,_ she thought. She raised the Bowie knife two-handed and slashed downward, severing the tap from the wall. Blood promptly sprayed outward in a ragged arc down toward the floor.

She stepped away from the wall, over the stream, and approached a closed door a short distance away. She tried the latch, but the door was locked or sealed somehow. She knew what nightmare lay beyond it.

A mortal walked by, eyeing her nervously, on her way to investigate the crimson flood. "How may I get inside this door?" asked Léna.

The mortal, Viráni, startled and walked back to her a few paces. "Are you hungry?"

Léna closed her eyes. "Open this door," she hissed at the mortal.

"My Lady, you cannot enter through there. The entrance is this way." Viráni then backed off and turned on her heel. She began walking back down the hall in the direction that she'd come. She glanced over her shoulder at Léna, who followed a few paces behind.

"Where are you going?" Léna barked. She felt as though she walked through water, trapped in a dream. Viráni disappeared around a corner. Léna rounded it, went through two large, double doors, and found herself in a large galley kitchen. Two mortals, who had been lounging and chatting behind a riot of countertops and pots and pans, suddenly came to attention. Steam rose from pots on a stove near them. She walked past them and easily found the other side of the door near the damaged tap. To the right of it she found the remnants of metal plates that likely supported the ancient, nefarious contraption against the wall. "Where are the manifolds?" she demanded to the puzzled mortals. Plastic tubing that led to the tap snaked upward to a hole in the ceiling. Her head spun in reminiscence of the memory-reality confusion that she'd felt when confronting her own image in her bedchamber mirror.

There should have been, instead, golden capillary tubing snaking to the tap from a manifold and then to the manifold from that which conveyed nourishment for vampire-kind. For miles around, vampires and lycans had brought containers of every description to fill with blood – mortal blood. There should have been a step up to a small door that led to a dank, stinking dungeon containing row upon row of men, women, and children, tethered to golden umbilical cords that drained blood from their necks to nurse the castle. Instead she found before her several simple pantry doors, which she inspected and found innocuous. Viráni walked to her left, reached up, and rotated a valve closed on the plastic line through which the blood – artificial, Léna now realized – flowed to the ruined tap.

"My Lady?" a familiar voice said behind her – Claire.

Behind Claire stood a disheveled and concerned-looking Ádám.

Claire stepped aside to allow Ádám to enter. "What?" he said, sounding irritated at being woken up.

"Just a memory," Léna said, only managing the briefest eye contact as she walked past him and back out into the corridor, leaving behind confused mortals.

"Oh, I'd say more than that," observed Ádám.

But her thoughts and gaze remained mostly elsewhere. "What went on in that room in prior centuries was wrong," she said under her breath as he joined her. "Viktor had Council issue a writ against it."

"That was quite a long time ago," he rumbled low in his chest. He then smoothed the hair on his head. "So you say that mortals were penned up here?"

The mortals had moved within earshot and responded by looking out at Ádám quizzically.

"Yes, and Viktor killed them. Then Marcus came to the dungeon and found that his supply had been cut off. Needless to say, he wasn't too happy about it."

"And so what were you doing out there? Recreating it all?"

"I had to be sure, Ádám!" she snapped, cutting him off.

He switched to Portuguese. "You're going to make people very nervous if you keep this up. You make _me_ nervous, Léna."

 _And this is a problem why?_ But she came to realize that she'd conducted herself as Viktor might, or at least the way Viktor remembered he would. Lord Viktor the imperious, who thought he owned everything. Perhaps also Lord Marcus who thought he _was_ everything. Then Léna abruptly shifted gears. "I know – I shouldn't behave like it," she said. "I _know_ , Ádám. Your point is noted. But I had to see."

"Send _me,_ My Lady," he said, glancing at Claire. "It's what I'm here for."

Claire ushered Léna, chagrined, back to her state room. Léna dismissed her at her bedchamber door with a curt word, and then later regretted it. "Watch those doors," Ádám had said. _I need to be on my guard, lest I be captured and imprisoned by these memories with no way out._

 _Where do my responsibilities lie?_ she thought. She'd been so wrapped up in the drama of these last nights that she scarcely thought of business other than the collapsed coven. She thought she should check in with Laudro at some point to find out how her business was faring, but she felt confident he would let her know if something was amiss. She thought of her airplane, still on the tarmac at the airport with the pilot patiently waiting, probably somewhere in Budapest. She wondered how quickly she could get airborne and out of Europe. She didn't need a pilot – she could fly it on her own. She, Laudro, and the Kolláristas could pile into one vehicle and just bug out if need be.

That she could conceive of picking up and leaving Europe reassured her. So, perhaps she retained, still, some control over the memories. The question of what kind of control they still had over her, remained. _Is it increasing?_ The memories told her that there was unfinished business in the coven.

  
\--0--   
  
  
"Boa noite, Léna," Treva said, walking into her dressing room on legs that were too long for her body. In height, she stood nose to nose with Léna. Tonight Treva had wound her mane of black hair tightly into a bun. "Look at you – getting to be quite the Elder, aren't you?" she said in Portuguese.

Léna sat in front of a mirror and Treva stooped down to look at them both in it. Claire had talked her into putting on one of the dresses that she'd unearthed from the back of a distant closet. It was simple, yet elegant – solid red brocade with deeper red, gold, and black embroidery around the collar, hem, and sleeve. Hand-made, at least part of it was. "In English, please, not an Elder, and good morning to you, too," she said, beginning to root around amongst the cosmetics before her.

"I'll do that," Claire said.

"How are all of your friends?" asked Treva, tapping the side of Léna's head. She'd awoken in the afternoon to a greater sense of control, which she'd welcomed. On this, the third night since Ordogház had burned, she detected no confusion, no alien sensations, and no personality change. But she knew that, as if possessing a gradually more powerful telescope, she didn't have to look as hard to locate the memory bequeathed. She felt more at home with each passing hour, and with passing time, she felt more of a calling to take an interest in the castle's affairs, if not the entire European coven.

"They're all still there," Léna said with a slight shake of her head.

"So, why the dress?"

"Lord Víg requested it, My Lady!" crowed Claire.

"Really?" Treva said, with exaggeration.

Léna arched her eyebrows downward. "He just asked if I could come dressed differently for breakfast. I wasn't expecting to stay in Europe for quite this long."

"Lord Víg prefers that the women of the castle be elegant, My Lady," added Claire.

Léna wished Claire would clam up. "What brings you here, Treva?" she said, not looking up.

"Oh, I had a long talk with Xavier this morning. He was a little upset after visiting you," she said, slipping back into Portuguese.

Claire glanced at Treva and then began Léna's makeup, oblivious to the exchange as the two women from Brazil continued on in their native tongue.

"I'm sorry for that, Treva." Léna supposed she owed Treva an explanation, but not with Claire present, even though they spoke a language foreign to Claire.

Treva sat down on the bench next to her and continued to look at her in the mirror. "There's something you should already know about us Kolláristas: when one of us gets upset, we all get upset." She reached over to grasp Léna's shoulders and began massaging. Treva put on her most pleasant smile and tilted her head downward – her usual attitude when kidding around. Her tone of voice was, however, anything but. "I don't know what critters you've got running around in that pretty little head of yours," she continued, with a wide grin, "but you can be rest assured that we Kolláristas have our own mind. And I say with confidence that Lady Amelia's daughter is not going to be killed, because we care for her just too much. And Léna, remember when we were kids, oh – about 90 years ago, and your mother called and I had to drag you kicking and screaming back home? If we don't like what's going on here, we're going to haul you bodily aboard your airplane and bring you back home to São Paulo." With this, she leaned over to her and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Smile and nod, Léna," said Treva.

Léna did. "Where are Ádám and Luz?" she asked, trying to shake off the stun of Treva's comments.

"They're around. I'm just delivering the message. Oh, and Ádám just requested some daysuit prototypes from Ziodex, so he can attack the lycans in the daytime if he wants. See you at breakfast." Then Treva patted her on the forearm and left her.

"She seems like a good friend, My Lady," said Claire in Magyar.

"She sure is. We've been friends for a long time," Léna said back to her, absently.

  
\--0--  
  
  
Treva's tirade kept Léna rattled until part-way through breakfast. Later, with blood in her and the company of the castle vampires, she became more steady and sure. Breakfast ended much better than it began. Giving her mind something to work on helped. The diners discussed the reconstitution of the Council, re-establishment of government, and getting the financial house back into order. She volunteered for the latter as she was the one most familiar with the coven's businesses. Fortunately due to redundancy in the records, the destruction of Ordogház and the death of the coven's business leaders didn't hobble them or put their self-sufficiency in jeopardy. Cash on hand in bank accounts kept the coven running and healthy until they got more financially sound. She planned to examine the company books and financial records in detail to determine the extent of the losses and to come up with solutions for how they could be fixed.

After breakfast, as she walked down the hallway toward the short stair to her state room, she heard muffled conversation ahead. Claire held the door open for her, as usual, and she entered to find all of the Kolláristas making themselves at home. All sat in various places around the room except for Treva, who stood and then approached her.

"Are you the spokesman for the group?" asked Léna.

"Hm," Ádám said from behind her, breathing as much as speaking in his warm, gravelly tenor. "I speak for myself – you know that." Seated on the hearth, he tilted his head sideways in the direction of Treva, not looking up.

Léna turned back to Treva.

"Let's just say that they think that I'm the one you're going to listen to." She tilted her head up as she said this, which meant that Treva had a very serious thing, indeed, to discuss. This was serious-Treva; fun-Treva tilted her head downward in mischief.

"Everybody looks so concerned," Léna said. She actually felt touched by their concern, but also annoyed – she suspected they wanted to tell her something that she didn't want to hear. She was still irritated with Treva for giving her a hard time earlier in the afternoon. Treva behaved now as if it hadn't happened. She used the rest of the Kolláristas as cover.

"We were hoping we could talk you into going back to Brazil," said Treva.

"Brazil," Léna repeated. _Voluntarily this time, it seemed._

Treva nodded back. "Where it's safe. There is far too much excitement here and I think we've heard enough to know what really happened to your mother."

"Mission complete, is that it?"

"Yeah. Selene and Michael have found a home, the dead have been counted. We think it's time we got back to our world."

"I can't go back," Léna said with a slight shake of her head. "My mother started something that I need to finish."

"Finish what?" asked Treva.

"I'm not at liberty to say yet," said Léna, softly. She daren't say more and so a lengthy silence ensued while the women looked at each other.

"You don't know or you're not telling?" asked Ádám.

"I'm keeping it to myself for now. Anyway, I need to do an audit to see what shape the coven businesses are in – it affects us in Brazil. I certainly need to stay for that."

Treva took a deep breath and nodded, looking away. "Well, we'll stay here with you, then. But I need to report back to Lord Dömötör on our status. There's a whole other coven to protect, you know."

"If Lord Dömötör needs people, I can authorize the segurança to deploy around the compound. It's no problem."

"I'll pass that along," Treva said stiffly.

The conversation stopped as footfalls approached from the stairwell outside Léna's state room. "Lady Léna," said Víg in Magyar from the doorway. "May I have a word?"

"How about later, Lord Víg?" asked Léna, keeping her eyes on Treva.

"My Lady, I merely wish a quick word, so that I can be clear about..."

"The Lady said she would speak with you later," interjected Ádám, who now stood in front of the hearth.

"Ádám, we're still guests in this castle," said Léna soothingly in Portuguese.

"It's all right. We can take this up later," said Treva.

  
\--0--  
  
  
She went alone, leaving the Kolláristas behind in her state room. Víg had beckoned her to the library, perhaps to consult with her on one or more of the ancient tomes that held the hidden history of the vampires – or, more likely, to size her up since the events of last night. She was familiar with much of the history from deep memory. After all, her memory had lived it. Víg researched as he was able, but she suspected he needed her to provide context for much of what he saw – in preparation for the reconstruction task ahead.

This same memory allowed her to easily find the library, located near Marcus' audience, and not far from the flood that she'd created just hours ago. At one time, it had been under the curator-ship of Lord Tanis and it contained most of the histories, covenants, treatises, speeches, and arcana that had been amassed by the coven over the centuries. Some of the more forbidden tomes had been banished with the archivist and their status was unknown since his murder.

Víg hunched over a reading table within. "My apologies for interrupting your meeting," he said.

She went to the opposite side of the reading table to face him. "It's no problem. We were just finishing." It had been just nights since she'd first met him. She'd not felt anxious around him then, but now she felt relaxed – even reassured – in his presence. Marcus regarded him as an old ally, and she supposed that perhaps she should, too. _Knowing_ provided a key. The castle guided her once again.

He looked up at her fully. "You should pass my compliments to Claire. You look more beautiful than usual today."

"Thank you." She gave him a lingering look, taking him in, reinforcing the Elders' memory of him.

He turned a page. "Did you know that Viktor hand-picked the members of the first Council? They weren't elected at all. Of course he..."

"That's because nobody had ever conceived of such a thing, and they had to be told what to do," she said, effortlessly. She knew the topic. She surprised herself, reciting Viktor's memory so automatically. She tried not to show it.

He frowned slightly. "So, is this something that your mother told you or do you indeed have the memories of the Elders?"

She fought the urge to be cross with him. "I just know."

"I see." He slowly closed the book and then deliberately walked around the table to her side.

Before he could speak again, she said, "What can I do for you, Lord Víg?" In another life, she was Elder and he was regent, and should do as she said – one of many ironies that she was getting used to. Then she suspected the real reason he'd lured her to the basement – not that she didn't mind.

"I need your help, and one could even say your blessing, to form our new government," Víg said, moving into her personal space. He then grasped her right hand, raised it to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.

She took a step back. "That's a tall order."

"I'm not sure that I completely believe that you have the memories of the Elders. But at the same time I believe we would be remiss if you were not included in the planning."

"Whether or not you believe me is immaterial. What memory I have is what I have. I'm not going to play a silly game of trying to prove it to you."

"Please don't take offense. I make it my business to know what's going on in my castle..."

"Lord Marcus' castle," Léna interrupted, not taking her eyes off his.

Víg stopped in mid-breath and broke into a grin. "Of course, Lady Léna. But I am the custodian while he's away." Then the smile fell. "I treat it as if it were my own. And he _is_ permanently away," he added.

"Good answer, Lord Víg."

He turned, took two paces away, clasped his hands behind his back, and then faced her again. "Why weren't Selene and Michael brought back this morning? Everybody seemed to want her brought to justice. Including you, I might add," Víg continued.

"Haven't you been briefed by Orbán?"

"Yes, but I'd like to hear your point of view. You are not a soldier."

"What happened was that Selene told a most fascinating story. And it wasn't just the telling of the story – it was the support of Lord Florian. She came to us willingly. And I get the impression that Selene has no reason to lie. Nobody could craft a tale this amazing, wouldn't you agree?"

"From what I'd heard from Lord Kraven, Selene had become aberrant in recent years. I'm not sure you should give her too much credence."

"Whatever Lord Florian thinks well of, so do I," said Léna firmly.

"Don't you consider her a danger?"

"Danger to whom?"

"To all that we know," he said, gesturing around him with his hand.

"I've felt her anger, Lord Víg, and we have good reason to fear her. Provoke her and she _will_ attack. Our priority should be choosing new leadership and strengthening the coven, as you say." She took a step closer. "Selene did this coven a great service, a murder of an Elder notwithstanding. But the former Elder of this castle was tainted. That is your standard of aberration, Lord Víg."

He paced away from her in silence, stunned perhaps, and then recovered. He glanced back at her as he walked. "Would you agree that any aberrance weakens the coven?"

She'd stunned even herself by her abrupt change of voice. _It must be the contemplation of Selene,_ she thought. "Yes, Viktor certainly would agree with that, but Marcus did us no favors, except get killed by Selene. He murdered over a hundred of us, indiscriminately. Aside from that, there are lessons to be learned in all of what's happened. I hope we learn something," she added.

"Such as?"

Léna sensed opportunity and took it. "Lord Viktor – dead and why? Lord Marcus – dead and why? My mother – dead and why? What were their weaknesses, how did they fail, and what can we do to change the conditions that brought about their deaths?"

He wandered back to her at the side of the reading table and rested his right arm on it. "What are your plans, Lady Léna?" he asked with a conspiratorial grin.

"Preservation and strengthening the coven, simply put. For now, I'd like to accept your offer to assist in crafting a new book of laws to govern us – not just bless it after the fact. I can, perhaps, tell you what things were done wrong and which were done right."

He put his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. "That's not my original offer."

She broke into her own wide, toothy grin and took a half-step closer to him. "Take it or leave it. You must earn the legitimacy that I'll confer." She meant to tease him, concealing deadly seriousness. "The result will be highly rewarding." She closed the remaining distance between them and put her hand out for him to shake.

"How can I trust what you say?"

"I will simply have to build that trust. Let's work together."

  
\--0--  
  
  
 _What are your plans, Lady Léna?_ she asked her image in the mirror, aloud. _What is it that you really want? Indulgence? Dominion? Justice?_ Each of these wants looked out from her eyes. The longer that she continued to contemplate her new-found memory and what the memory thought was right, the less she recognized the face that looked back at her from the mirror. She hooked a finger in the sheet that lay on the dresser nearby and draped it back over the mirror – now she was gone.

For over a week, she and Lord Víg had met nightly to review covenants and debate amongst the nobles the benefits and shortcomings of each. Even Lord Dömötör had been brought in on conference call. They'd drafted new codes and documented them for the computer age. Resourceful Laudro had uploaded the documents to an internal network for comment and vote. It was an exhaustive, arduous process requiring long hours on their part. She supposed it was inevitable that they would find themselves in each other's arms.

And why not? Was he not wealthy, powerful, and well-connected? _They_ also knew him and she brought _them_ to him. She played him as she sat astride him with her dress riding up. He'd lied to her mother once upon a time, in days of old. In the game that she played, she would learn the truth as pleasure brought forth nothing but.

Claire's fashion sense had become advantageous. Léna turned toward a chair at the opposite end of her bedroom from where the mirror stood. Claire reclined there with needle and thread, finishing an alteration in an ancient, noble dress that she planned to wear to her next meeting with the nobles and Lord Víg. She walked near and then sat down on the bed to await completion of Claire's latest creation. Lately, mortals within easy reach reminded her of consumable prey. It was a wonder to her that they still remained in the castle though Marcus had thinned their ranks as he dined on them. He'd plied the granddaughters of the nobles with their blood. He'd given the word _servant_ a whole new meaning.

Claire glanced up. "I've nearly finished the hem, My Lady. I am sorry that it is taking so long."

Léna curled her fingers and coiled her arm around a bedpost. "It is no hurry. I simply enjoy watching you work."

Claire tied and clipped off some extra thread and replaced the needle with the others in her sewing kit. "You've been watching me with great interest lately," Claire said, rising with dress in hand.

Léna rose and stepped into the dress as Claire held it open for her. She gazed into Claire's eyes and said, "Would you prefer that I ignore you?"

"I am not uncomfortable, My Lady. I am just making an observation."

"It seems you watch me as much as I you," Léna said with a soft laugh. She turned and stepped away two paces. "How do I look?"

"Noble and beautiful."

"My complements to the seamstress."

"Thank you, My Lady."

Claire did not know, but as she'd helped Léna hoist her dress on, she'd been mere moments away from being struck. The need to relive the sensation of flowing blood in her mouth had been almost too much to ignore. Instead, she would avail herself of Lord Víg's flowing manhood.

She played a familiar game with Lord Víg, but at the same time it felt so good to exercise that part of the heart and the body that went far too long between uses. It had started innocently enough – in the annex to his residence, which served as a library. She'd been a book, just like the others in the shelves, except laid open before him – unsealed, unguarded, and unprotected. She'd sensed his closeness, stare, and his own desire as she hoisted a volume from a cart of other large, ancient, books. As it had lain before her on the table, he'd stood behind her just at her shoulder. He'd brushed his fingertips on her hand as it rested on the pages. She hadn't pulled away, and when she'd turned around to him, his eyes had been waiting for her. If that's what it would have taken to establish trust, then she'd been willing to do it. Sometime after their initial lovemaking, she'd realized that she might not have had as much control over the situation as she'd thought.

Claire trusted her, and that's what let Claire continue to live on as a mortal. Trust was the key, she then realized, to bringing Selene back into the fold. She would be a threat otherwise for she knew her only too well – after having created her.

Treva, unusually silent, met her at the landing. Léna wore her gold and silver dress snugly over her frame and open at the bottom in a train, hiding less than suitable shoes. Her hair, well... nevermind. She progressed down the short corridor between the two residences and nodded to Henrik and János, who watched over the entrance to his residence as she passed. Treva halted and struck up a conversation with them both.

She reached Víg's library and the host of nobles gathered therein. They didn't bow, but they did stand as she entered. Arrayed around the wooden work table stood the castle master, Lady Marga of the Romanian subcoven, and Lord Puskás and Lord Kún of Castle Víg. To her relief, the screen where Lord Dömötör usually appeared was blank. In the periphery sat Štefan, the librarian of the castle.

After the group sat back down, she very nearly remained standing, as her mother would, but took one of the remaining seats instead.

"We are awaiting Lords Torma and Gellért, who I'm told have just entered the castle," said Víg. He'd appointed himself moderator of the proceedings.

"We've quite the attendance tonight," remarked Léna.

"It is the subject matter to be discussed, no doubt," he said.

The library door clanked open once more and the two remaining nobles entered. She stood along with the rest, for these two, along with Víg, were among the ancients, second only to the Elders in life span. They were among the very few who escaped the sacking of Viktor's castle in Transylvania by Lucian and his horde.

They didn't acknowledge her except for a nod and she suspected that they knew that the Elders' memory reigned in their presence. Her mother had been neutral to Torma, but had considered Gellért an ally.

"Welcome all of you," Víg said, returning to his seat. He thumped a tome on the table in front of him. He reclined at an angle and pressed the button on a pen continuously. It was his favorite, perfectly balanced, and used for important signings while the coven leadership was in limbo. She suspected that he wished for it greater things. "Tonight we discuss something that, to my knowledge, does not appear in the covenant books or in any of the other books that govern us. Is this accurate, Lady Léna?"

"Yes it is," she said. _Insofar as my mother is the only one who really paid attention to what was written._

"The reason that this discussion is before us is because of Lady Léna's proposal that Selene be readmitted to the coven."

She'd decided some time after her initial conversation with Víg that Selene's status couldn't be ignored forever. She granted that he was correct in regarding her as a potential threat, but she also realized that Selene would be more useful inside the coven than out. Surprisingly, Víg had agreed with her. Aside from the threat removal, Selene had a purpose in the coven. She didn't know what Víg's motive was, but she'd decided to let events play out.

"Why is this debate important?" Gellért asked, rising to initiate the debate. "Has she not still fangs and a thirst for blood?"

"A thirst for vampire blood, I'd gather," interjected Puskás.

"And that is what concerns many of us," said Víg. "She retains these qualities, but she no longer needs shelter from daylight, I've been informed."

"Has this been tested?" asked Gellért.

"We only know from Lord Florian's testimony," said Víg.

"We all know that Florian and Selene are allied. Look at how quickly he came to her aid, providing shelter for not only her, but the hybrid Michael," said Puskás.

"That, in itself, does not prove they are allied," stated Gellért. "Florian was her instructor and she has sought counsel with him. Your assertion is flawed, Puskás."

"And your basis?"

"It is not for me to defend my correct assertion from your flawed example." Puskás opened his mouth to protest, but Gellért carried on. "I have, at this very moment, a refugee from the burning of Ordogház living in my mansion. This vampire has been damaged physically and psychologically from the trauma of that night at the hands of Lord Marcus." Gellért then leveled his gaze at Léna, confirming for her that he knew. "I do not know this vampire's politics and only have supposition of the vampire's allies. It in no way influenced my decision to take the vampire in. We are, despite what's happened, a united coven and we protect our own. Who would disagree?"

Torma spoke up next. "And that, Lord Gellért, gets to the crux of the matter. Should we protect a vampire who has assaulted other vampires and has killed two of our elders? What sort of united coven is that? When can we say that non-vampire-like conduct is unacceptable?" Torma, also, gazed at Léna as he spoke.

"Do we curse Lord Marcus for killing one hundred of us or do we wonder at how his mind had been altered so much so that he was not himself?" said Víg.

"And we haven't taken up the question of Michael," said Puskás.

"Back to the issue of Selene," Gellért said, cutting Puskás off. "Selene has been damaged by revelations about the circumstances of her turning and her mortal family's role in the sequestering of William the werewolf."

"Perhaps we all need to see a psychiatrist," said Puskás.

Gellért raised a finger and suppressed a glare at Puskás. "There are mechanisms in place, dating to the era before the deaths of our Elders, to address covenant-breaking and we can all agree that she's broken several. I submit that the discussion that we've had does not lead me to conclude that the coven should reject her." Gellért sat down.

Léna stood.

"We used to execute covenant-breakers, so what's the difference?" asked Puskás.

"If I may?" Léna said, giving Puskás a look with the intended purpose to shut him up. She decided to engage in some political theatre, so she pushed her chair in and began to stroll around the periphery of the seated nobles, so she could gaze into the eyes of each as she walked – just like her mother had in days of old. "I would like to preface my point by requesting that we address the conduct of the Elders at another time. The debate tonight is about the final status of Selene." Her heels clicked on the wood floor as she walked slowly, in almost the cadence of a grandfather clock.

"Preface the second: I suspect that what Selene wants is justice. Justice can be meted out, vampires, during a trial. Even Lord Marcus, were he still alive, would be deserving of a trial." _Click. Click. Click._ She held up her hand. "Who among you fears Selene?"

All hands went up except those of Kún and Puskás. She suspected they'd been sheltered far too long inside the confines of Castle Víg.

"You may disagree with me, but you are merely ignorant of what Selene is capable of." _Yes, I can say that._ "You may think you know, but I, and only I, know her destructive potential. How do I know? Because in my memory I know that I made her what she is – and that is an ultimate death dealer without a care for life. I know what anger created her and now that anger has turned away from the lycans and potentially toward us. If she chooses to unleash her destructive fury, we will not survive, period."

"We can move to Brazil, then," said Puskás.

"I don't want your kind in Brazil," she spat. "If you reject my proposal, then you're on your own. You shall not have support from me or any of our assets."

"Are we not allies in this, Lady Léna?" Gellért said gently. "Is that really your decision to make? Would Lord Dömötör agree?"

"I care about our survival. If you do not, then you do not. To illustrate my point further: we must return her to the coven. She is more dangerous while remaining outside of the coven than within. Not only will she be a threat in her own right, she may rally others who are disaffected by the events since the last full moon. I met a very angry widow in Polgár Mansion."

"Don't you feel that you bear some responsibility for what's happened? Shouldn't it be right that you support the coven in need?" asked Marga in heavily-accented Magyar.

"Again, we are not discussing the Elders," Léna snapped. "We are discussing Selene's entrée into the coven's new structure. Our choices are these: accept her into the coven or excommunicate her. If we reject her, then she is free to destroy us since she has nothing to lose. It has been her life to do so. If we accept her, then we harness her abilities for some useful purpose."

"For what? Gardening like she does at Florian's?" snorted Puskás.

"I don't care what she does, as long as she's not destroying the coven," Léna replied.

"Why don't we simply kill her?"

 _Click. Click. Click._ "You and what army? Would you expend additional vampire lives to kill Selene and then have to contend with Michael? If we kill one, we must kill both. Selene is not worth the expense in lives, my friends, much less the time we are taking away from important matters to decide her fate. The simple thing to do is to move on and remove the pretext for further weakening of the coven."

"You've drawn several stark lines in the sand, Lady Léna," Lord Torma observed.

"I only want what's right for the preservation of the coven, My Lord," she said respectfully, and then sat.

  
\--0--  
  
  
At the end of the work session, near 0300, Léna returned to her state room, full of blood, full of him. She found that a Kollárista had invaded and her purposeful stride slowed as she approached her old friend.

"How goes the conclave?" Treva asked from behind Léna's desk, long legs propped on top. She sifted through a stack of hardcopy of proposed covenants, Léna noted.

"Very well – the response has been mostly positive," Léna replied. She knew, though, that Treva was not in the least bit interested in the new government. She approached and placed a hand on the edge of the desk, waiting for the attack.

"How's Víg?"

"What do you want, Treva?"

"Just to know how your relationship with Víg is dictating this," Treva replied, waving a handful of hardcopy at her.

"You'll have an opportunity to vote, just like everybody else," responded Léna icily.

"On the covenants or your relationship?"

"That's my business."

"Not if it affects the coven. What are you _doing_?" Treva asked, indignant.

"I know what I'm doing."

"Do you? Didn't you just try Xavier a week or so ago?"

"You never worried about who I was with before. Qualé?"

"You know your track record isn't the best. Why break hearts on this side of the Atlantic?"

Léna pursed her lips.

"And these are vastly different circumstances. Are you just lonely? Or is it lust?" she asked almost plaintively. "What's the point?"

"I _know_ what I'm doing," Léna repeated firmly. Strangely, she felt no anger toward Treva, just annoyance.

Treva's features softened. "Well, I don't know who _you_ are. I don't know who I'm talking to when I talk to you. Maybe you could help me out?"

 _Here we go again._ "It's pretty simple, actually. It's still me, but with a much longer memory."

"How long are we talking about?"

"Back to almost the fall of Rome," she said, straightening. "Now I know why my mother spent so much time alone, just thinking – or in salon with Lord Dömötör."

Treva sat up and put her feet flat on the floor. "You never cared about any of that stuff. What bearing does it have on anything?" Then she added, softly, "Now that all of the Elders are dead?"

"Treva, you know they're not completely gone."

Treva looked down and shook her head, exasperated. "Why don't you come back to Brazil and leave all this?"

"You know I can't do that."

"Is it because there's more of your mother's memory here?"

"It's not as simple as that. My mother's memories are shared by Marcus and Viktor."

"So, they _all_ have a hold on you," Treva spat, standing to her full height. She stalked about the room on her stilt-like legs. "It's like you've got the Elders' chain wrapped around your neck."

"About that chain: I can tell you how the chain got started – and my mother's role in it. Would you like to know?"

Treva faced her. "No. Nobody cares, Léna. All of the Elders are dead. You have to live your own life, not theirs."

"I have a responsibility and their life is my life, now. I can't go back to the way I was."

"I want to get out of this country, Léna. There are way too many ghosts here."

The sudden change in Treva confused Léna, but she understood her situation. She'd been in Hungary for two weeks and, understandably, had enough and wanted to leave. She was spooked and had walked into something that perhaps she didn't quite know how to deal with. Treva's best friend was turning into something else – it was no wonder. She decided to take the direct approach.

"You were – are – one of my mother's protectors. I'd hoped that your sense of duty would extend to her work. And yes, she is dead, corporeally, but I've found out that there was so much more she wanted to do. The situation in the coven right now makes it even more imperative that her work be completed. My mother wanted so badly to change the course of vampire history that editing Lord Viktor's memories wasn't good enough for her. It wasn't enough to change the past – she decided to change things in the present. The time is ripe, Treva."

Treva thought for a long moment. "Why did she come back _here_ , then?"

"Tradition? Memory? Sense of duty? She changed her mind? That much I don't have access to. She was as much an enigma to me as she was to everybody. But she did want things to be better for the coven and had her own ideas for achieving it." _But where the Elders failed, perhaps I can now succeed._

"What can I do here?"

"Stay with me here, for as long as it takes. _Defend_ what she wanted to do."

Treva stared back at her for several long moments. "Good night, Léna," she said suddenly with a sigh. "I leave you to your memories."

"Do you have any plans for the next couple of hours?"

"Probably stay here, as usual. There's no time for fly swatting, not that I have a stomach for it anyway."

"Where are the others, by the way?"

"Where else? Hanging with the Huszáristas."

"Spar with me – we can talk more."

"It's a date, but no talking. You give me a headache."

"Deal." _I need you here with me, Treva. We're not finished yet._

  
\--0--  
  
  
Treva took her frustrations out on Léna into dawn – probably to try and knock some sense into her. She had valid points, but nothing could divert her from what she needed to do.

Léna returned to her state room to be fussed over by Claire. She didn't need a mirror to tell her that Treva had split her lip and loosened a tooth with one of her kicks. Not only that, but the session with Treva had unsettled her mind anew. Her thoughts turned toward Lord Víg. _Why?_

Perhaps it was because it was her first sexual relationship out of her mother's view. Her mother had been dead only two weeks, and here she was, engaging in pleasures of the flesh. _Look, Mother, I can do this and you can't take it from me,_ she thought, triumphantly, to her mother's unseeing memory. By all rights she should put Rodrigo on a plane and bring him to Hungary, but now, as it had been the first time she contemplated it, this situation in this country would be beyond his ability to make sense of.

What would be the consequences in her business if she couldn't manage relationships as before? At the end of the night she would choose, always, power over weakness and involvement over being a bystander. Possessing the Elders' memory now reinforced this need.

In the end, they'd fought to a draw, both in their friendship and with regard to her relationship with Víg.

She and Víg joined in her state room, within the warmth of the fireplace. They became the vampire helix, limbs and bodies intertwined, heat melting metal strands. They became any one of many vampire couples in the coven, bowing to intoxicating sensation and oblivion.


	10. The Guiding Night

"I'm going. Why don't you?" said Florian, gesturing widely with his hands and widening his eyes when waxing important. "And I never go to these things."

The two of them, along with Lady Asenath, sat in Florian's garden, having gone there after their breakfast. The moon began her crescent in the snowy silence. The lack of activity unnerved Selene, cut off as she was from the cycles of the coven. Usually a lack of lycan activity meant the vampires were diligent. Nowadays, the same lack might mean nobody was watching. The vampires were fewer in number, and she caught herself worrying over gaps in surveillance. She kept reminding herself that the world had changed, but centuries of discipline wasn't easily overcome, ignored, or disregarded. Her enforced, relative inactivity gave her time to consider things that she hadn't before, such as her sadness over the loss of vampires such as Kahn. She wasn't sure she considered them friends before, but they built something together over the centuries that she now missed. She also missed and mourned the ritual of the plan, hunt, and kill, despite the now-proven pointlessness.

What she'd gained was her newfound heart for Michael and the discovery of an alien place within her where he curled up and made himself at home. She wanted to explore it, explore what he meant to her. She wanted to explore the day, but the night's comfort wanted her back. Still, she slept in the daytime, because nighttime was her world – it was her land and she lived there. Her heart's night also beckoned, but she resisted. She sought him out, whenever she could and whenever their schedules aligned. Michael was her day's guide, and she was his night's.

Selene furrowed her brow and replied, "Well, tell me why you're going, then?"

Florian made chopping motions with his hand. "Because I'm in favor of unity in the coven and I want to show people that I care about the coven," he boomed. "And, if things do get political, as I suspect they will in the coming months, then I want to have my foot in the door. Because you can't complain if you weren't there getting to know everybody and knowing what you're voting for."

"But I don't see what going to a social ball has to do with any of that."

Florian raised his eyebrows again. "You even have a date – Michael _is_ coming, isn't he?"

"He'll go if I go. But I have nothing to wear."

"We'll just have Lord Víg recommend something. It's his ball and he should have a fair idea of what people should wear. If not, I'm sure Asenath can find something in her wardrobe that fits or can be made to fit, am I right? There are going to be many, many vampires there and they'll all be interested in you. So, enjoy the evening, make some friends, and make sure you're sitting at the table when we decide our future. Be as unthreatening as possible. You and Michael are the new face of this coven. Vampires won't be able to get to know you if they can't get to know you."

"I feel like a greenhouse orchid as it is," Selene spat. _What is Florian trying to make me into?_ She continued to wonder if the new coven was something she should participate in. Participating in or hearing about coven intrigue never suited her.

"You are, actually, one of at least three curiosities who should be attending," Florian responded. "You won't be alone," he added with a conspiratorial grin.

 _It would indeed be interesting,_ Selene thought. Lady Léna was rumored lately to be a close companion of Lord Víg, an arrangement that left a sour taste in Selene's mouth. It must have been the manner of his talk on the handful of occasions she'd met him over the centuries. Once or twice it had been at gatherings like the upcoming event that she prepared for – at the time posting guard and hearing all. Perhaps Lord Marcus' memories had taken over Léna and their partnership was intended to give the coven some assurance that theirs was a strong leadership. Lord Víg, the regent of Lord Marcus, and Lady Léna, who possessed the memory of the Elders. How could any vampire not want what these two seemed to provide? She hoped she could find out more about Lady Léna to pin down what was really going on. Florian would likely disapprove, though, of any action she suggested that might be considered "rocking the boat." _'We must have unity!'_ he chanted as his mantra – unity for the coven and integration for her. What other way was there? _'Change today to change tomorrow!'_ he kept quoting from Lady Amelia. He'd rather she work within the coven to make it a happy home for both her and Michael, rather than making war on it. She wouldn't commit her loyalty, if she had any more to give anyway, to the coven until what the coven was to become came into sharper focus.

Michael had gone back to his internship at Trauma Hospital and life carried on, despite his modified dietary requirements. She had her assignments from Lord Florian, but she'd been giving the affairs of the coven a wide berth. She split her time, with spackle and brush, between Michael's old apartment and Lord Florian's mansion. She reprised her role from the distant time before becoming a death dealer. _At least I'm not shoveling snow._ She was on holiday from being a death dealer, but she found it hard to relax and hard to shake the sensation that a piece of her was missing. She pulled out Florian's loaned cell phone and called Michael.

  
\--0--  
  
  
The ball was as ridiculous as she knew it would be, but she suffered through it. Curious, random vampires came up to her, then suddenly realized that she was Selene and they didn't recognize her with her hair like that. Many of the gathered nobles regarded Michael warily, not knowing if they should shake his hand or hiss at him. Several ladies did pull him aside to get a good look at him, which alternately irritated and amused Selene. Michael, the more social of them, enjoyed the occasional, positive attention. She was happy for him. He cleaned up well and looked good in a tuxedo; his graceful blond locks contrasted well with the severe black lines of his clothing.

Lord Víg had shipped a slinky black silk evening gown for her. It had short sleeves and an outsized neckline. It was hemmed just above the knee and came complete with a black corset and a red and black mostly lace shawl. She'd taken Florian's advice and had left the corset. Asenath had offered her jewelry, but she left her neck unadorned. She would not be a silver-clad socialite. Asenath's servants had finished dressing her by getting her hair under control.

Selene and Michael situated themselves at a table to watch the comings and goings of the assembled, remaining nobles, warriors, and servants of the coven. By habit, she sat with him in the periphery, with her back to the wall. A piano player in the center of the ballroom filled the air with background music. Cigarette smoke hung in the air and gloved servants, both mortal and immortal, brought silver trays full of blood in wine glasses. In an opposite corner, a chamber orchestra organized themselves in preparation to play.

Then the master of ceremonies announced the arrival of Lord Víg and Lady Léna and all turned their attention to the rear of the large elongated room as the two made their entrance. Ádám lurked nearby the entrance, along with the tall, thin, brunette whose name she didn't know. She was the one who'd held Halldór's sword the last time she had encountered Léna.

Léna had gowned up – she'd dressed as Lady Amelia would, in layers of dark, diagonally striped fabrics from bow to stern. Her plunging neckline focused the eye on a necklace straight out of a high-born vampires' collection – expensive and ancient, it had to be. Nearby, she heard one or two vampires say, "Doesn't she look beautiful? You can tell she's Amelia's daughter. They make a great couple, don't you think?" _Sure._ But she _was_ beautiful, indeed. She carried herself as a high-born noble and cast her eyes about as if... she owned what she saw. No shrinking violet or debutante was she – she knew exactly where she was.

Michael suddenly leaned over to her right ear and she thought he was about to comment on Léna's looks. But instead, he said, "That man – his name is Lord Víg?"

"Yes," she said, continuing to look at the center of attention. "Why?"

He suddenly turned around and seemed to cover his face.

Selene rose and pulled him up out of his seat and then toward the back of the room, out of the gathering crowd that ogled Léna and Víg. She held his arms and peered up into his shadowed face. "Michael, what's wrong?" His eyes had gone dark. "Tell me!" she said, and shook him for a moment by his upper arms.

He blinked, then, and his eyes returned to clear. He took two deep breaths and then looked into her eyes. "I recognize that man. I'd seen him before, but couldn't place him. Now I know."

"Where?"

He glanced back up front and then back down at her. "In Lucian's memory of Sonja's death. He was there."

Selene suddenly felt a chill go up her spine. She wished of a sudden she had a gun – not to use it, just to have it. "What was he doing?" she whispered.

Michael whispered back. "He was standing behind Viktor, right before they opened the ceiling and let the sun in."

"You never told me about other vampires when Sonja died," Selene said.

"I just thought they were random vampires." He glanced briefly behind him, in the general direction of Víg. "But I see they weren't. It never dawned on me that they would still be around. Maybe the others are, too. And the lycans in the gallery."

"Michael, who else was there?"

"Just three others, I think. One had a whip," he added, and then nodded and rubbed his forehead. "I'm OK," he said suddenly, shaking his head. "Let's go back."

"Actually, why don't we get some air." Selene looked around and then took his arm. "This way. I think this leads to a porch or balcony or something."

They went outside into the cool air. The balcony that they found themselves in was large enough to permit outdoor seating and supported an upper story with carved stone columns. At least one death dealer, armed, posted guard, facing outward, scanning the night. He nodded a greeting to Selene. On the castle walls in the distance patrolled others that she could see. One of them wore the Corset of Amelia – definitely Patricia. Beyond the walls, the mountain sloped downward and in the far distance glittered lights of nearby Csövár. Other lights moved in the traffic lanes as the mortal, and perhaps immortal, world went about its business.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Michael stiffen. She briefly glanced at him and then looked in the direction of his gaze. Walking toward them from the opposite side of the patio was the tall brunette death dealer from Lady Léna's group.

"Boa noite," she said. She wore thick-soled walking shoes, rather than standard-issue boots favored by fashion-conscious European vampires. Several steps behind her stood Ádám, leaning against the stone railing with arms folded. He dressed in a crisp, black dress shirt stuffed into belted black denim.

"Good evening," Selene responded in Magyar, assuming it was a proper response to what the other woman said.

"I'm Treva," she said in English. "Lady Léna sent me to ask you if you'd like to meet with her."

"That would be fine," said Selene, also in English. "Alone or with...," she added, indicating Michael.

"Just yourself. Apologies to you, Michael," Treva said. "One on one," she intoned. "In her apartment at 2300." Treva walked off, but Ádám remained, looking at Selene and Michael bemusedly.

Then Ádám walked toward them, placing his hand on the railing as he approached. "I thought you would be out in the war," Selene said to him in Magyar.

"I thought you would be, too," he said. "But, we've been instructed to be here, isn't that right?"

Selene nodded, looking at him warily.

"Spilling lycan blood, I'd rather be, wouldn't you?" he said, and punctuated his sentence with a brief hiss. He gave Michael a look intended to intimidate and then walked off in the direction that Treva took. His well-worn boots made a pronounced thump on the stone patio – they probably had blood on the soles.

Michael pursed his lips and looked sideways at Selene.

"Pointless hostility," she said after a beat. "We actually have a lot in common."

"Really?" Spoken sarcastically, but quietly.

She continued softly, "Lycans killed his sister Ophelia – and I was there when it happened. Except for him it was real lycans. And an Elder, of course, has killed his father."

"Thank you for dispatching Marcus?"

"We're in interesting times, Michael," she said, turning back toward the ballroom. Within, the chamber ensemble was playing an appropriately minor-key piece as they rejoined the gathering.

"He doesn't seem to have an issue with Marcus' memory in Léna, I see," Michael said behind her.

Selene glanced back over her shoulder. Before she could retort, Florian strolled over with a glass in his hand, distracting her, and she wondered with horror if he might ask her to dance. "Aren't you going to greet our hosts?" he asked.

Selene glanced over at Michael and then back at Florian. "I hadn't planned on it."

"It would be rude not to. And you came all this way."

"I've got a private meeting with Léna at 2300."

"Do you?" Florian said. He glanced at his watch with some exaggeration. "You've got plenty of time, then. Go break the ice." He winked at her and then strolled away in the general direction of Asenath.

"C'mon," Michael said, and led her toward a line that was forming.

"Are you all right with this?"

"I think I can hold it together," he said.

Léna seemed to be kissing everybody who approached her – Brazilians must greet each other so, she surmised. Despite what Michael said, she remained vaguely anxious about him. He was still young in his new skin and shaky with his control.

In time they made it through the crowd to where Léna and Víg held court. Michael approached Léna first from her right. She seemed genuinely glad to see him and grasped his shoulders to give him a kiss, or rather a glancing kiss, on either cheek. At the conclusion of the second kiss, she whispered in his ear: "It's good to see you in better circumstances. I hope you're enjoying your visit." He then moved on to Lord Víg and shook his hand. She missed the rest of their exchange because she found herself in front of Léna, who looked her dead in the eye. Léna then leaned forward and planted one on both of her cheeks. Selene did not know a proper response, so chose none. Léna looked back at her mutely, unsmiling, and then suddenly said, "It's good to see you again, Selene. You really look nice."

Selene suppressed a shudder and politely thanked her, only saying what was necessary. She moved on to Lord Víg and was glad to see that Michael hadn't cut him into ribbons. Víg put out his hand to shake hers. "So glad you could make it, Selene," he said, precisely and politely. Selene forced a smile this time and nodded to him, then moved on. Her opinion of him didn't change an iota – she was still as suspicious of him as ever.

She caught up to Michael. "Who's that?" he said, indicating across the room.

"Another from the rogue's gallery?" she said, turning around. "Oh."

_"Oh?"_

"Kou."

"Who?"

"Kou. He shot you in Lucian's place. Do you remember him?" She began to walk in the other death dealer's direction.

"Vaguely. I'd just been bitten, as you'll recall."

Kou held up a wall to one side of the ballroom. He wore a slightly cleaner version of the uniform he always wore. They walked up to him, prompting him to raise an eyebrow. "I have to say this is almost the last place I expected to see you two," he said.

"We were _instructed_ to come here," said Selene.

"So was I. But you know where I'd rather be."

Selene tilted her head slightly backward. "I saw Patricia on the wall."

"Yes, everybody's here protecting this place. We're losing a night on the hunt and we continue to lose our advantage with every passing hour."

"I hear you," said Selene.

"Staying long? Looks like you're having a hell of a good time."

"I have an appointment, so I need to stay," she replied, neutrally. She found something elsewhere in the room to look at.

"Really? With whom?"

She stopped trying to hide from him, old teacher that he was, and returned her attention to his eyes. "Lady Léna wants a tête-à-tête."

"Going over to the dark side?" said Kou.

"Hardly. I don't know what she wants. But I plan to get the most out of the visit."

"Let me know if you want me to shadow you. All five of us are here."

"Thanks. I appreciate that," Selene said, genuinely grateful. She wondered if he made the offer because of what she did the last time that they'd met. Maybe he detected something about Léna's and Víg's friendship as well. Kou seemed well, but maybe it was because he continued to do what he had been doing all along before the deaths of the Elders. It kept him busy. Maybe if she could get on good terms with Lady Léna's protectors, it would lessen the tension in the air somewhat. "Sorry about the karate chop, Kou," said Selene. "Heat of the moment, you know," she ventured.

Kou nodded and even smiled slightly. "I guess I had it coming – shooting at your boyfriend, and all."

Selene permitted herself a smile.

Kou looked over at Michael. "Sorry about the bullets, man."

"That's quite all right," Michael said softly. "You were actually a poor shot."

"Obviously," Kou said, continuing in his buoyant mood. Then he turned serious. "When are you going to come out with us?"

Her face fell, wiping the smile with it. "Pardon? You mean kill lycans?"

"Exactly. I think you'd have quite the advantage being a daywalker."

Selene closed her eyes with deliberation and then opened them again. "Kou, let's not have this discussion now."

"Not killing lycans, then? Are you becoming the reverse of yourself?"

"Kou... I've killed two Elders and the truth is..."

"Look," he said, cutting her off. "I can understand if you don't want to be a death dealer anymore. But you need to really think about what you're going to do for the coven."

Selene felt her temper rising. _Here we go, again,_ she thought. _I've got people everywhere telling me what to do._ She chose to be diplomatic. "I think that's a question for all of us."

  
\--0--  
  
  
Selene left Michael in the company of Florian and Asenath and made her way up the narrow passages and steep steps of the castle. The sound of her footfalls, less familiar in heels, echoed back to her from the close, stone walls. Here and there she encountered couples strolling arm in arm or clutching at each other. Other times she passed servants on important missions. People seemed to be pairing off randomly and finding out-of-the-way corners of the castle to indulge themselves.

She arrived at the end of a corridor that took her to a short stair. A short, female death dealer stood guard at the foot and regarded her with large brown eyes and a faint grin. Her oversized ears held large, stainless steel hoops, about the diameter of a gun barrel.

"Boa noite," Selene offered in recognition.

"Como vai?" the death dealer responded. At the top of the short stair she made out a silhouette of Treva.

"Hello, again," Selene said in Magyar as she approached her level. "This must be the place," she said next in English.

"E aí?" said Treva with a nod. Beyond her, the door was open. "She is waiting," she added in English.

Selene stepped inside, into an anteroom that had been converted into a small office. A laptop sat upon a large desk in the shadow of a large candelabra. To her left, farther inside the main living area and a step down, was a sitting area in view of an aquarium of tropical fish. Beyond and a step up, at the far right corner of the room sat Léna, near the lit fireplace in another sitting area. She gazed into the fire from a padded, metal frame bench designed in layered, criss-crossing curves, pleasing to any vampire. Selene looked over her surroundings as she approached – sharp stone edges with bits of iron jutting out here and there along the walls. Electric torches, in vintage iron frames, threw their light toward the ceiling and everywhere. Nearby hung a large wall monitor, turned off at the moment, between two windows of the outer wall.

Léna turned to acknowledge Selene as she reached her and indicated a similarly designed chair, opposite. "You may sit, Selene, or do what suits you best. But we must speak in English, because the Kolláristas become nervous if they don't understand."

Selene felt a reflexive need to bow, but suppressed it. She couldn't avoid being reminded of what Viktor had become to her in his last hour. She knew that Viktor's memories moved within Léna, but which? Selene sat instead. The stark furnishings of the room prompted a question. "Is this Lord Marcus' room?"

Léna faced her fully. Flickering flame reflected in her eyes. "No, this is just a guest suite." She indicated over Selene's right shoulder and continued, "The tank is a recent addition because my mother loved the sea. She incorporated it into the compound in Brazil. Isn't it interesting how much like our parents and sires we become when they die? We remember them in spite of ourselves."

"Yes," Selene said simply.

"Where is Michael?"

"With Lord Florian."

"In good care, he is."

"He recognized Lord Víg."

"Did he, now?" Léna's expression didn't change. "Why is this? I was told that he was only bitten by Lucian."

"Yes, but even though he was bitten, somehow a memory transferred to him. The memory of Sonja's death. He now sees it as if he were there."

"I understand," said Léna. "Yes, that was Lord Víg, there. Also present were Lord Somogyi from the south, Lord Kovács, as well as András of this castle – who has since died at the hands of lycans. Somogyi, of course, died on the train with my mother."

"What were they doing at the execution?"

"Lord Víg, Lord Kovács, and Lord Somogyi were on Council at the time. They voted in favor of execution." She breathed out a small laugh. "They were given permission. They didn't really want to condemn her. But once they did...," Léna said and paused. She blinked and continued, "Lord Viktor wanted to see to it himself and not hand it off to a death dealer, unlike other times."

Selene gave Léna her death dealer focus. She would fill Michael in on the details later.

Léna nodded in her direction. "Do you have any other questions?"

"Why are you still here in Europe?"

"To find out why my mother died, ostensibly. But then, I inherited a legacy from the Elders. I don't know exactly how," she said slowly and softly, gesturing into the air in no particular direction, "...perhaps it was the sight of Ordogház burning down. I suspect they were stored there all along and only needed to be awakened – liberated by the flames. It was quite a shock, as you can well imagine. Then the question of why led to other questions of why."

"Why did you stay?"

"Why did I stay...," Léna repeated. She looked about her without moving her head. "According to my memories, I never left. This is where I should be." She took a breath and changed the subject. "Selene, I've asked you to meet so I can deliver an appeal. You are one who needs to be on board if the coven is to succeed and survive. It is better to have you included in the coven than excluded. Most everybody is coming together to rebuild and defend the coven... but you are one of the holdouts. We want you to join the party. Of course we will have to make arrangements for Michael..."

Selene cut her off and gritted her teeth. "You say that you want unity, but you will have to convince me that Michael is really welcome in the coven. Because, if he's not, then neither am _I_."

Léna glanced at the fire for a moment. "Do you trust him?"

"With my life."

"I know what _I_ became as a hybrid – and it _frightens_ me, Selene."

"You should know that I don't entirely trust you, either."

"Because of Viktor?"

"Yes."

"Well said."

"Will Viktor let you choose between Michael and me? And by the way, why is Ádám so hostile?"

"Don't be so quick to assume that the memories of the Elders govern my decisions. I incorporate, not submit to, their knowledge." Léna's concentration appeared to break for a moment. "As for Ádám, my mother possesses his loyalty and I possess his heart."

 _As I possess Michael's,_ Selene thought in response. _I know it. Does Lord Víg possess yours?_

Léna broke her out of her thoughts by asking, "Do you know if Lord Kraven had allies in the conspiracy against the Elders? Do they still roam among us though the coven is half-destroyed? I've been given an account of the conspiracy, but perhaps you could enlighten me further since you discovered it."

Selene stood and began to pace about the room with arms folded. "It's almost a moot point since the conspirators that I know of are dead and the Elders died anyway for other reasons..."

A voice boomed from the entrance. "There's not much more to tell, as far as I'm aware," said Víg in Magyar as he walked into the room. "Something else that I'm aware of is that you have not been well – or so said Lord Kraven the last time I spoke with him before he died."

"What do you think of the conspiracy? Do you think it ended with Kraven?" asked Selene, facing him.

Víg gazed at her as he walked slowly across the room. "I frankly don't believe it. Lord Kraven was a victim of lycan duplicity. Also a victim, one could say, of his own lust for power. Lucian offered him a deal, but what Lucian really wanted evidently was to become a hybrid and kill us off."

 _But you weren't there,_ Selene thought. She looked at Léna, who gazed back at her without expression. Her eye contact never wavered. She hoped Víg was finished, but then he took the conversation in a direction that she didn't expect.

"It's time to come back, fully, to the coven, Selene. It would be better for everybody, including you, if you become an active participant again. It's a shame about your family, but Lord Viktor did what he thought was right," he said, glancing, perhaps unconsciously, at Léna. "He paid for it with his life and I don't think many begrudge you for that. But put yourself in his place. Knowing what Viktor kept hidden away all these years, wouldn't you kill your own family to keep it hidden?"

Selene felt her body grow cold and the tingle in her tear ducts that told her that her eyes were close to lighting on fire. She shifted her attention to the carpet. Her pulse and breathing quickened and she put her jaw outward in defiance. _I could kill both of these in seconds,_ was her immediate thought.

Víg wasn't finished, unfortunately. "At the time, your family was just another group of mortals that were in his way. But..., justice has now been done. It's time for you to start enjoying life. Your presence here this evening is a good start." He continued to gaze at her, but she refused to acknowledge him. She would lose control of her eyes if she did. _Return to the coven, indeed._ He then leaned down to Léna and said into her ear, "Are you coming back downstairs?"

"In a few minutes," she said back to him, but Selene detected from the sound of her voice that she still faced her as she spoke. Then Víg stepped out past Selene's downcast eyes. She slowly raised them to meet Léna's. "Hard realities, Selene," Léna said.

 _Is that true?_ Selene wanted to ask. _What Víg said?_ Killing Léna now wouldn't change the past... but the last remnant of Viktor would be removed. _No. Viktor and Marcus are already dead – and Léna knows it in her unique way. Perhaps she feels what I feel and that is a more appropriate penalty._ "My family," she hissed, "was more important to me than _any_ war. _That's_ the reality."

"Marcus wouldn't disagree with you," Léna said.

"You mean Marcus – from before."

Léna gazed back at her a moment before saying softly, "Before being tainted."

Selene suppressed another shudder and changed the subject to save her sanity. "Why do you think your mother was killed? Surely there was more of a point to it than the death of my own parents." She felt her voice catch at the end of the sentence.

Léna stared mutely at Selene for several long moments. "Perhaps we'll never know, exactly."

"Michael told me once that Lucian said that he was putting an end to the conflict."

"What does that mean?" said Léna, squinting her eyes slightly in thought. "Putting an end to it because the lycans would win with Lucian as a hybrid? Was it a lust for power or did he intend to impose peace? Or was it that Lord Kraven and Lucian did in fact want a halt to the hostilities between the races and Lucian needed my mother's blood as an insurance policy? The irony, Selene, is that my mother wanted the very same thing."

"What was she waiting for?"

"The right time," Léna almost whispered. "She spent her days calculating. She planned all of the possible moves, like a chess game."

"Were there any moves that she missed?"

"Do you mean to ask if her death was a failure or a success? We may never know that, either."

Her important question not-quite-answered, she walked slowly about the suite to calm herself. She approached a painting of Lord Marcus. Then she thought of Michael and the particular memory that he knew. "What's it feel like to have all of the Elders' memories?"

"It's as if you wake up one afternoon and discover that you're dead, but you have all the memories of being alive. And you're left wondering what you could've accomplished and what you could've done differently. What you could do if you had a chance to do it all over again."

"What would you do?"

"Learn from lessons. Other than that, I cannot say."

"Here's an idea: stop the conflict, perhaps? You can do it, if anybody," Selene said, almost cutting her off.

Léna almost laughed. "Thought about it, have you? That's certainly on the table. Also on the table is how do we press our advantage and use the coven's strengths better? How do we make the coven stronger, knowing what we now know? That's where you might fit in."

Selene recalled an earlier conversation with Michael when he described a foreign, alien rage welling up from Lucian's memory during his battle against Viktor. _No, I do not trust her to ignore her legacy when she acts._ Another question came to Selene's mind, but the time wasn't right for asking it. She suspected, though, that Víg had already provided the answer. _Why did you kill my family? What's the why behind the why?_

  
\--0--  
  
  
Selene clopped down the steep steps from Léna's living area. _You will impress me, Lady Léna, if you work for peace,_ she thought as she went.

"Tchau," said Treva as she passed.

"Ciao," responded Selene, not looking up. Lights from the lower hallway threw shadows up the stairwell. The decidedly feminine smells and warm lighting of Léna's room gave way to the mustiness of the common passages and stairs of the castle.

Farther down, she encountered Kou speaking to the short, Brazilian death dealer, the Kollárista, with the metal in her ears. He broke off and walked with Selene.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, more sharply than she intended. "She can't understand a word of Magyar. Are you following me or protecting me?"

"Following you, of course. A lady like you shouldn't be walking alone around the castle at night."

"Thanks."

"How did it go?"

"Lord Víg is a bastard, every bit the one that Kraven was. And of course Léna's in some sort of relationship with him. She and I had a good chat, though. They're taking this coven in some direction, but I'm not sure where."

"Who's driving?"

"Now, _that_ is a very good question, Kou."


	11. The Dead are Dead

"Hello Florian," a female voice said from behind him. He could almost guess who it was before he turned around. The voice caught him in mid-sip and so he just raised his eyebrows and turned at his waist, without letting his lips leave the crystal in his hand. In the next instant her perfume enveloped him.

Léna had ambushed him while he stood near his table, between conversations. She hadn't exactly cornered him, but the effect was the same. Pinned him with her eyes, she had. As he drained his crystal of blood, she stepped into his personal space and took it from his hand. "Who are you?" he asked, almost impulsively. "When I saw you last, you were doing a cartwheel across Lord Polgár's garden."

She actually laughed. "I pay the price for the Elders' mistakes."

Florian grinned back at her. He was gratified that he could make this particular vampire smile – he considered it a testament to the favor that the Elders had for him, if not his personal charm. She was nearly a complete stranger to him on one level but an old acquaintance on another. His comment about her acrobatics was not inappropriate in either case. Her situation in his personal space also meant that he likely could say nothing wrong. "Of course," he said.

She looked briefly to the side, conspiratorially, and then locked eyes with him once again. "Let's just say that I'm all of them and none of them. None awake, none asleep. I can even be whichever you want."

Florian nodded. He did have a preference for _her_ , but he daren't say so. He attributed his advanced station to being impartial and he avoided jeopardizing it, reflexively. He opted for neutrality and distance. "What can I do for you?"

She opened her mouth as if to say, "Ah!", but no sound came out. Then she moved another centimeter into his space and said, "I'll tell you exactly what. You were – and several would say _are_ – the finest death dealer that this coven has. I turned you. I made you my captain in Castle Dömötör. I made for you a home, here in _this_ very castle." She cast her eyes around the room. "I made you head of security at Ordogház and recommended for you lordship to Council. Imagine, a turned vampire becoming a lord – impressive."

She spoke to him as all of the Elders in one, recalling what each of them: Amelia, Marcus, and Viktor, had done for him. She'd also taken the neutral tack. "I appreciate all that you have done for me," he said.

"I'm curious to know why you were sent away from Ordogház," she said. "This is not known to me."

"Lord Kraven believed that I was a threat to him and so I was invited to retire to the country."

Léna's eyebrows tilted downward slightly. "Indeed? Do you know why he regarded you as a threat?"

 _Where was this leading?_ Would she trust him? Was Kraven's action justified? "It's never been made clear to me. And, frankly, it's now history and of little matter. The unity of the coven is paramount and I did my duty, left the stage, so as not to become a source of conflict. I was given a mansion and a stipend."

"Much changed under Lord Kraven's stewardship and perhaps my mother was remiss in not keeping a closer watch on him. You sacrificed yourself and then were given nothing to do," she said, and then looked down. "I have a proposition for you," she added, brightening. "I'd like you to come home – to here." Léna put her hand on the red velvet covered table and bent the opposite knee, tapping the point of her shoe on the stone floor. "I'd like to make you head of security and Captain of the death dealers – again."

Florian pursed his lips in thought. "Do you have the authority to do that?"

"I believe so. Lord Víg listens to me."

It was Florian's turn to say, "Ah..."

"You may come back and be welcomed with open arms, but you must do one thing."

Florian wasn't surprised that there wouldn't be a free lunch. There seldom was. "And that is?"

"Bring Selene and Michael with you."

"I see," Florian said, his voice trailing off.

"Will it be difficult? You may ply her with whatever you think is prudent – taking the coven into consideration as you must – in order to attach her to you. With Lord Viktor in disgrace in her eyes, you are the one she trusts, outside of Michael, perhaps – misguided as that may be."

"It is true that I have been a confidant for a number of years, but it's difficult to get her to listen to anybody other than herself."

"I understand perfectly," said Léna. "Do you think she will come?"

"I'm not certain. She wants to remain in the coven, but is not sure of her role or whether she will be accepted. She's not quite the same as the rest of us."

"In my conversation with her earlier this evening, I got the impression she was on the fence, but may be swayed. She is fiercely loyal to Michael." She took her eyes off his and laid a finger on his lapel. "But, if you agree to my proposal, and you can convince her, then it may tip her in favor of returning. What I would like is to get the coven between her and Michael, but love is a powerful thing."

Talk of love and the finger on his chest made him acutely aware that she was attempting to manipulate him. It also was very familiar – only an Elder who ruled entire covens could engage in such physicality without question. Mentally, he'd accepted her offer, but wanted out from under the finger. "And what of Orbán?"

She looked back up at him. "What of him? He will accept you – I'll see to it. Another thing: once you, Selene, and Michael return to the coven, you must accede to the coven's wishes, as before. Selene cannot be a coven unto herself, deciding for herself what she will do and not do. Her personality is thus. Contravening the wishes of the coven comes with its usual penalties." She tapped his lapel and then removed the finger. "She may not be 100% vampire, but if she aligns with the coven she must behave as a vampire."

Florian frowned in thought. "I understand."

Léna nodded. "As before, order and discipline rule the day. The coven is foremost." Her eyes flicked back and forth between his. This was the argument favored by Viktor. She'd shifted from appealing to his masculinity to his pride to his sense of duty – effortlessly. She was the medium connecting him with the memory of the Elders... and connecting the memory of the Elders with him. All three Elders had worked him over.

"And if she refuses to return?"

Léna began to turn away. "Then she is on her own and we are not responsible for her. And if she takes up arms against the coven, then we will respond accordingly. That is a distinct possibility that we consider, based on her recent history."

"I'll relay that."

Léna turned back to him briefly. "Tell her anything you want, but the goal is to bring her back to us. You can even tell her that I'll pardon her for the deaths of Lord Viktor and Lord Marcus. But a decision must be made. Why? The time has come for the coven to pull together, for the sake of our survival. I'm sure you're aware of all the threats to us. That we are organized and together is the one thing that we _can_ control." She met his eyes for a moment and then said, "It was nice seeing you again, Florian."

  
\--0--  
  
  
"You've got that look in your eye, Selene," Florian commented as they gathered around his Audi and took possession of it from a mortal who'd fetched it for them.

Selene caught a glimpse of Michael looking at her over the hood. She said nothing and dropped into her usual seat, riding shotgun. "She's been like that since she came back from the meeting with Lady Léna," Michael said as he got in.

"How was it?" asked Florian.

"Harrowing," was all she could think of to say.

"How so?" he asked, turning the key.

She shook her head and looked down. "The visit with Léna went fine, it was Lord Víg that was the problem."

"Oh?"

"Florian had his own meeting with Léna," Asenath chimed in from the back. "And don't think I didn't notice."

Florian looked at her in the rear view and then glanced sideways at Selene. "It wasn't Léna so much as three Elders. It was rather eerie."

"What did she say?" asked Selene, focusing on him. The car reached the gravel country road with a bump.

He sighed. "Essentially, she wants you to come back to the coven."

"That was the gist of my meeting – my conversation with her, anyway."

"She wants you to come in so that you can be pardoned."

 _"For what?"_ Selene snapped. "Who came up with that ridiculous idea?" Some of her bangs came loose from their moorings and dropped into her face, but she didn't care. In her peripheral vision, she could see Michael watching her intently.

"What did Lord Víg do?"

Selene dropped abruptly back into her seat and thought about Víg's comment that she probably would've killed her own family if she knew the truth. "He was very dismissive about the murder of my family. He implied that Viktor had no choice." _And I told Alexander that he had none, either._

"Sounds like mind games to me," said Michael softly from the back.

Selene turned and stared at the trees going past her passenger window. _Oh, what have I become,_ she thought. _I'm actually entertaining thoughts of... making war on vampires._ "My life, my _cry_ , since I became a vampire has been to avenge my family. Now that I've found it's been a lie, my family is all I have left," she said softly.

Florian propped his arm on the door and ran his hand through his hair.

"Do they really expect me to bow to that?" she said, and then turned to face Florian.

They reached the arterial and merged in. Finally, Florian said, "I don't think Lord Víg's point of view is shared by everybody."

"That's a relief," she said sarcastically.

"Despite what Víg said, whatever he said, you have a role in the coven. Léna wants you in. If you want to come back, as you indicated before, then all you have to do is go through that gate and let Léna know."

"And kiss her feet?"

"Her proposal is well worth considering. And I encourage you to accept it. What choice do we have, Selene? Other than the reorganized coven, there is anarchy. The status quo isn't suitable and you know that. We will wind up with seven or eight Amelias, each not talking to each other and at odds – seven or eight warlords, each with their own fiefdom. The coven will cease to exist. We'll be ripe for the picking because we won't be speaking with one voice – and that will be good news to the lycans."

"The lycans don't concern me anymore."

"Well, they should," Florian snapped. "Regardless of how your attitude toward them may have changed, they will still try to kill you for simply being what you are. They know who you are, Selene, and any lycan would relish killing you. Remember that there's safety in numbers."

Florian reciting maxims was her signal that she needed to fight harder to get through to him. "I don't mean individual lycans – I'll defend myself and my coven, if necessary. But lycans as a species... I no longer see the point of wiping them out." Selene blew a strand of hair out of her face and changed the subject. "Are you going to vote for the reorganization?"

"I intend to vote for ratification. It's a good system and the only system we've got. The best outcome is that you stick with me and become my deputy in the coven. We'll move into the castle and everybody will be happy. The alternative is that you – and by extension Michael – elect not to take part despite ratification. If the plan is passed with the required margin, then you'll be given a severance package and be sent on your own. You won't be supported, physically or financially, by the coven. Most people will get the message and vote in favor. However, you have options that other vampires do not have – you can walk in the daylight. You can probably get yourself a job somewhere. Michael supports himself already, maybe he'll support you. But you're a soldier, Selene, and the life amongst mortals, while it's what you came from, won't be easy to adjust to."

"It almost sounds like we're being forced into this. Vote for ratification or be cut off."

"If it isn't a good plan, then it won't be ratified. But I believe Léna, Víg, and the rest who crafted this plan had the right ideas."

"Such as?"

"Two councils. One of them will be elected from all facets of the coven, not just nobles. Even you can serve. This council will make the laws, as before. Another thing –"

She winced and shook her head. "Spare me the details for now. I need to think about this."

"At the end of the night, I think you will be more comfortable in this coven than the old."

"What about the war with the lycans? Will we fight them, still?" she asked, voice trailing off.

"Ádám, Orbán, Kou, and the rest are ripping them up right now – plain and simple retribution for the death of Amelia. I'm fully confident that you'll be prepared for anything and do your duty. There'll be time to discuss the rules of engagement. The dead are dead. Accepting a role in the coven will allow you to start with a clean slate, especially if you accept a pardon from Lady Léna."

 _He's starting to sound a little like Víg._ "I don't recognize her as an Elder and I don't think we should start thinking of her as an Elder."

"I don't think Lady Léna would want you to think of her as an Elder, either. Traditions are powerful and symbolism is powerful, however, and if you were to bow before her, at least figuratively, it would send a powerful message. There are a lot of vampires who admire you for taking on and defeating Elders who, some would say, were out of control. But we have to move on, and it's better if you were in."

"That's a big change from just weeks ago when everybody wanted to kill me."

"So you assume. That's before everybody learned exactly what happened and why you did it. Your support is deep in the coven. And as for your concerns about the lycans: I am not unsympathetic and your position will get a fair hearing from me. Léna recognizes your popularity and is in favor of bringing you home."

"That's what Léna said to me: it's time to come home." They'd come to an agreement, but her mood remained sour. She turned to her left and looked back at Michael. _Can I move on from this, Michael?_

  
\--0--  
  
  
 _Moving on._ That's what it came down to. For five nights, Selene considered one of the most momentous choices in her long life, arriving at the end of a series of other life-changing decisions that had presented themselves to her over the course of one full moon. Those others had been made in the heat of battle (drinking Alexander Corvinus' blood), by near-reflex (decapitating Lord Viktor), or out of love that she'd barely had time to understand (turning Michael). Oh, and then there was the decision whether or not to rejoin the coven. The decisions that she still faced weren't concentrated over the space of moments, nor were they arrayed before her as targets.

She recalled her injudicious suggestion that Michael kill his family. _"...once you're an immortal, you must treat them as dead,"_ she'd said. Their discussion had turned into an argument at that point. He'd wanted to go back to his prior life, or some semblance of it, rather than spend his hours holed up in Lord Florian's mansion with a brooding ex-vampire and ex-citizen of the coven – no matter how much in love they were. As their stay lengthened, the probability of imminent attack by fearful vampires or vengeful lycans seemed to grow more remote. He had a life, immediately available – even a family if he wanted it. What did she have? She supposed she jealously gathered him to her to replace what had vanished with the monstrous revelations.

It had been simpler, in so many ways, when Viktor had reigned supreme. His will had set the coven on its path. Now, in the place of Viktor's way, bureaucracy grew to fill the void and no path seemed evident. Before she could vote for ratification of the new coven's governing structure, the eldest vampires in the committee had to decide whether she possessed sufficient vampire qualities in order to be granted the right to vote to begin with. And she couldn't rejoin the coven without the ratification vote passing.

To help the process along, she prevailed upon Florian to contact the committee members to pass along a suggestion that were she to receive the right to vote, she would agree to rejoin the coven. It wasn't like it was a life sentence anyway. If she didn't like what she saw, she could always exile herself and carry on without vampire-kind. Neither she nor Michael needed its physical protection, but mentally and spiritually she decided she wasn't quite that strong. Besides, former coven-mates that she cared about, such as Kou, Florian, Patricia, and others, would remain with the coven. She had a longing for belonging, she found... and for purpose. Michael knew his and she loved him for it. She hadn't stood in his way.

She agreed to receive Léna's bite.

  
\--0--  
  
  
In the middle of the day, Léna awoke warm – too warm. She'd fallen asleep against him for warmth and pleasure, but now felt clammy and sweaty. She put some space between her body and his and felt cooler air seep between. A trickle of sweat rolled down her abdomen, tickling her. She rubbed the spot.

She lay sideways to him, head still on his shoulder, watching his chest rise and fall in blissful sleep. She considered his neck – the well-traveled geography thereon, the pulsing life within. She sat up and put her legs over the side of the bed, turned and glanced at him to see if he still slept.

Léna had memories of impulses, sensations, and pleasures, which she sought anew, dwelling as she did in the house of Marcus. She remembered what _he'_ d done in _his_ years with _his_ harem of noble granddaughters, and later, coiling around hapless mortals as a snake, sucking and then crushing the life out.

Together, Viktor, Víg, and others had burned the life out of Sonja, and then later _he_ had replaced the vampire life that he'd taken. _He_ loved Selene, and wanted her home, to be with _him_. Léna knew _his_ mind. Léna also knew, and could relate to, the sense of being wronged. It was _not_ lycans who'd taken Selene's family from her, it was _him_ , a vampire. It was _not_ lycans who were ultimately responsible for the death of her mother, it was Kraven. Lycans were oftentimes unwitting henchmen for the vampires, used for whatever struck their fancy. Hell, her own mother had done it. Lord Víg had done it. Lord Víg, once upon a time, endeavored to trick her mother into striking at the lycans by manufacturing a story that they were in league with the Ottomans. Her mother, who'd declared a unilateral truce with the lycans, rightly knew that Víg would break it, and when he ultimately did, she used that excuse to impose her will on Council. The lycans continued to be used for the purposes of vampires well after Lucian had led them out of bondage. They were a means to an end. She wondered if they were being used thus now – and who was the user.

So now she bedded this Víg, who'd flouted her mother's will in days of old. She hoped the other Kolláristas wouldn't discover this ancient fact else there would be more questions. Only Ádám possibly knew as he had lived back then, but not as a warrior – once upon a time he and his sister had been banished by Marcus and Víg for manufactured reasons.

She scratched her arm, ran fingers through her hair, and then reached over to the fabric chair near the bed and retrieved her gown. The clock said 1300 and the old, sleeping castle, or at least the immortals housed within, would be coming awake in just two or three hours. So, too, would her affairs halfway around the world. She wandered out of Víg's suite and down the worn stone steps to the common corridor between his and hers, greeting Luz the sentry as she passed. Then she proceeded to her own suite and to her improvised work area between the entry and the hearth. She checked her e-mail for bulletins, especially from segurança. She'd been sending instructions to redeploy them of late.

Nobody in São Paulo, even her, had any earthly idea that her stay in Hungary would stretch to weeks. Truth to be told, she did not know when, if ever, she would return to Brazil. She'd become married to the coven; her goal of returning once the business interests got back on track and the coven once again could run on its own appeared less realistic. She thought of finding solutions to long-lingering problems, such as the hostile relations with the lycans that her mother sought to normalize but on whom instead she'd set loose Ádám in the last weeks. Many of the problems that the coven faced presently were sown by the actions of the Elders in days of old – problems that Léna felt a responsibility to fix. How would the peace with the lycans ever be achieved when there was so much anger, especially on her or Ádám's part? She didn't know who was less realistic: her mother who wanted peace with the unpredictable beasts, Viktor who wanted to eliminate them all for daring to consort with his daughter, or Marcus who simply wanted to control them and ultimately locate and rehabilitate his lost brother. And then there was Selene, a problem that Viktor had created, who'd brought down the vampires' power structure and who might react unpredictably if crossed. Peace with Selene was prerequisite to the coven going forward. Now that Selene's desired arrival in the castle was nigh, Léna became uneasy – perhaps because of the closer threat to her own life. Selene brought death wherever she went. _Death dealer._

Her affair with Lord Víg paled in comparison to these challenges. She couldn't, however, achieve her goals without his powerful body of surviving vampires behind them. She must compromise with him to achieve her goals. He was her equal in many things and they'd had a successful, working partnership so far. Coupling with him was a convenient, practical means to an end. She not only decided what to do with her body, but she decided how she felt about it – in this hush of day when she was as decisive as Viktor.

Finished at her laptop, she returned to Víg's suite bedchamber. He awoke as she crept back under the sheets. She responded by running her fingers over his chest and searching out his eyes in the dark.

"I thought you'd left and gone back to your state room," Víg said, under his sleepy breath.

"Just checking e-mail," she responded. She rose up on her left elbow and leaned down over his mouth. "Business." _It's good being with a vampire again,_ she thought to herself. There were ways of pleasuring a vampire that only vampires knew about. In this, Rodrigo was at a distinct disadvantage. The sensation of his lips against hers reminded her of the electric storm in her that he had teased into being earlier that morning. After the kiss, she diverted to probe a carotid artery and his trachea with her teeth and tongue. She found bumps on his neck that she hadn't noticed before – not noticeable unless one knew where to find them. "Who's been biting you?" she asked playfully. "I don't remember finding these before."

"I'm surprised you found them. They are quite ancient," he muttered.

"That's an un-healed scar from an immortal bite. Anybody I know?" she asked with a smile in her voice.

"I don't bite and tell. Pay them no mind."

"How did Selene uncover the conspiracy against my mother?"

Víg chuckled and opened his eyes. "He probably had a slip of the tongue. He was never very careful."

"He?"

"Lord Kraven. He was never very good at keeping secrets. Selene was his weakness."

"Why was Selene his weakness?"

Víg chuckled again. "Kraven was in love with Selene. The irony is that he planned for a future together with her and she's the one that uncovered the plot between Lucian and Kraven and dashed it to pieces."

"Kornél, are we responsible for what those in our blood memories have done? And can we be forgiven?"

"What's giving you that idea?"

"Selene has sent word that she would like to be pardoned for killing Lord Marcus and Lord Viktor – as a condition for her return."

In the candlelight, Léna thought she saw surprise register on his face, and then vanish. "Well, it's not like those deaths weren't justified. And haven't we been over this?"

"But if it weren't for the actions of the Elders in the first place, we wouldn't be in the situation that we find ourselves in."

"You can't be held responsible, period. And as for Selene, she did the right thing."

"I have another quote from my mother. She said, 'What you were determines what you are and what you are determines what you will be.' Do you think that's true?"

"I think you are what you are. So what are you?"

"I'm following in my mother's footsteps."

"I hope you don't mean that literally. You know, Léna, you can't be held responsible for what you have been no more than I can be held responsible for what I've been. It's a false history and not you."

"I'm wondering how risky it would be for us to bring Selene back into the fold."

"Once upon a time, _I_ was the one that needed convincing," he replied in the dark. "Since you have Viktor's memory, you would know best."

 _Ah, trust._ "Selene is not what she once was. She is not obedient."

"That's no surprise. Viktor is not what he once was in her eyes. Why are you fearful of a sudden?"

"I don't want her to kill Viktor and Marcus again. I've seen her anger."

"I don't want it, either. That she wants to be pardoned is a good sign. It shows that she wants to put it behind her and start new. What is it that Viktor said? 'We have all the time in the world, so why do dwell on history?'" With that, Víg rolled over and breathed deeply back into sleep.

Léna would not let him get away. She rousted him, mounted him, pinned him, and wound around him, positioning his body so that he touched those places within that made her white out with sensation. Soon he responded and the electric shocks arced through her body, taking her to a place where no Elders reigned.


	12. Sword

**_One week later..._**  
  
But Selene reserved the right to bite back – and, if necessary, with deadly force. Considering her altered state, her saliva might just kill another vampire, but assurance, if needed, would come from a glowing blue tracer round. The consequences for her, though, would be dire without sufficient justification for her actions. After decapitating one Elder and annihilating another, it wasn't hard for her to think she was entitled to a tool of an ultimate death dealer.

And she knew just where to find a supply of glowing death. She'd suspected quite some time ago that Tanis' prison likely remained unsecured. During her extended unburdening after Lord Florian had taken her in, she'd revealed her discovery of the UV generator tucked away in the alcove of the monastery. That, and the forbidden history books needed securing, she'd advised him. After steepling his fingers and pursing his lips for several moments, he'd come to the same conclusion as she: yes, the material needed to be secured, but Selene was the only vampire of the coven, as far as they knew, who knew the prison's location. Since she'd been until very recently persona non grata, she wasn't in an official capacity to secure it or lead anybody to it. Once she and Florian received official instructions from the Council-elect to reactivate their citizenship in the coven, a return visit to Tanis' prison became her first order of business. As a coven asset, it needed securing just like the rest that he would soon be responsible for.

Also hastening her was the recent news that the Brazilians had talked the Council-elect into re-establishing the network links between the safe houses in town. She would prefer to carry out her work at Tanis' before the surveillance system came back online.

It didn't take her long to pack. She'd arrived at Lord Florian's mansion with naught but the clothes on her back, guns in her holsters, and a hybrid companion. In her brief stay here, she'd accumulated few additional possessions. As it had been six hundred years ago, rebirth had a way of stripping her bare. Immortality afforded one infinite opportunities to start anew.

The vinyl and corset ensemble favored by the female death dealers had gone out of fashion. For this mission, she exchanged the vinyl pants for expensive blue jeans and a heavy, black belt; vinyl top for a black turtleneck; and the trench coat for a leather jacket with a zipper in the front and a holster under her left arm. The rest of her clothes she packed into a duffel bag and that was the extent of it.

She heard a rumble above, which told her that Béla, Florian's mortal butler, driver, and house master, had pulled the dark, green Audi A4 around for her. She reached up and unlatched the small window shutter so that she could see out to ground level from her basement room – just to verify. She donned sunglasses, put her headset on, and called Béla. "Ready for me?" she asked.

"Yes, ready," he said.

She hoisted her duffel bag and headed for the steps to the main floor of the mansion. She exited into late day and found Béla holding the Audi's door open, waiting for her. "I don't think I'll get quite this royal treatment at Castle Víg," she said.

"The pleasure's mine," he said simply as he reached in and unlatched the trunk.

After she settled into the driver's seat, he closed the door. She could think of no response, so she simply waved at him through the glass. She put the Audi in gear and placed a call to Michael.

"Yes, hello?" he said sleepily into his apartment landline.

"Why are you asleep?" she asked.

"Hi Selene," he responded. "I'm working night shift, remember?"

"I'm coming to get you."

"Why? What's going on?"

"I need to go back to Tanis' hideout and I need your help."

She arrived at his apartment building in VIII District and found him waiting on the sidewalk outside. "I guess you couldn't get help from anybody else?" he said as he dropped into the seat.

"Not for what I need to do."

"Which is?"

"I'm going to secure the hideout and certain items in it."

"Such as?"

"I'm removing the UV generator."

"You need my help for that?"

"You're going to help me guard it."

"Why don't we just destroy it?"

"My orders are to secure it, not destroy it."

"What do you need it for? Who gave the orders?"

She didn't bother to even look in his direction.

"Oh, I see," he said. "What happened?"

"Nothing's happened, Michael. I'm still not 100% keen on an alliance with this particular batch of vampires – especially Léna."

"So it's 'just in case'."

"Exactly. Not only that, but I don't want the machine to fall into the hands of lycans much less other vampires." _Just in case._ She felt better with the insurance, like the weight of a big gun strapped to her thigh. After she'd done the unthinkable, she supposed it became quite easy to again contemplate terminating other vampires.

In her peripheral vision, she saw Michael quietly face forward with a look of distaste on his face. They crossed Árpád bridge into Buda and headed for the hills where the old monastery lay and within which Tanis had dwelt concealed.

"Let me ask you this," Michael said, jolting her out of her thoughts. "Where are you going to put it if it's still there?"

"I hadn't figured that out, yet. I'd considered your apartment..."

"How about 'no'?"

"...but I realized that the mortals that live there probably have had their fill of lycans for their lifetimes."

They parked in the drive and got out of the car after the briefest of visual scans of the area. They walked cautiously toward the main door and examined its surface and the walls surrounding it for some sort of handle, release, or controller. Coming up empty, they resolved to circle around to one of the air ducts which doubled as a lycan access.

She prepared to drop feet-first into one of the passages when Michael crouched down near her. "Hold on a second," he said and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"What is it?"

He seemed to gaze into the black hole for several moments and then said, "It smells like death down there."

"That wouldn't be too surprising," she said. She realized that he was being naturally cautious. "I'm responsible for some of that."

"And Marcus the rest. The generator that I heard when we were here before is off."

"We'll find out for sure." With that, she slid in, hit bottom, and then got out of Michael's way. He landed behind her as a silhouette in the residual light that made it all the way down the three meter-long chute. The cramped corridor that she found herself in abruptly lightened. She glanced behind her to find that Michael had turned on his penlight, but had mercifully pointed it at the floor.

They walked on and it soon became obvious that the condition of the monastery was quite different than when they'd left it. Not only had the occupants been killed, likely without exception, but the power was off and any torch that had thrown off light and heat had long gone out. She found herself hoping that he'd escaped, rather than been killed.

Beside her, Michael snorted involuntarily and she knew that he'd gone into a guarding change, as she called it – not quite changed, but definitely not in his base state. Her vision sharpened in the dim light thrown off by the pen in Michael's near-animal grip.

They arrived in the sanctuary that served as Tanis' great room. Michael inhaled several times noisily through his nose. Selene glanced at him and then around the room and then finally at the long, wooden table where Tanis' near-skeletal remains lay.

"I smell Marcus," Michael's voice strained out. Then he proceeded toward Tanis' body as if to examine it. She made no comment, but instead made for Tanis' arsenal, which, from her vantage some distance away, appeared to remain intact.

Selene contemplated one of the latest expressions of the arms race between the lycans and the vampires. What would she do with such a thing, really? Could the tracer rounds really add to her abilities? What would killing her own kind with greater efficiency achieve – again, now that she'd already done so to two of their elders? Mass killing was something that Marcus had done and she would leave Léna, instead, to be the one closest to Marcus in manner.

Even worse, arguably the bullets, along with the minds that conceived of using them, formed part of the conspiracy against the vampires – something that still filled her with distaste, despite the conspirators' noble intentions. _Perhaps I should practice what Léna preaches._

She glanced around the room and the hearth caught her attention. She strode to it and hefted an iron poker. The implement was about a meter long and weighed about one-half stone. She returned to the UV generator and swung, destroying the front faceplate and sending rivulets of fluorescent liquid down the wall and to pool at her feet. A second stroke dislodged the faceplate and exposed a circuit board, LED display, and tubing. Her third blow sent pieces of wet plastic in every direction and rendered the unit useless.

After she pitched the poker back into the fireplace with a muffled clank, she worked on unclenching her teeth. She turned to Michael who looked on expressionlessly. "Let's confiscate the rest of these," she said, and set about gathering the remaining contents of Tanis' small armory.

"No sense in leaving these on the street," he said under his breath.

"And I'm willing to beat only some of the swords into ploughshares at this point."

"What are we doing with the rest of this? Are we going to take the books, too?"

"That might be for later. Right now the best we can do is lock this place up. The coven can garrison this place later." She looked around and drew a breath, suddenly sharing his concern. "Štefan might be the one to catalog these volumes."

"Who's that?"

She fingered one of the thick tomes in another alcove. "Castle Víg's librarian. He might as well be the entire coven's archivist by now."

At his silence, she turned back to him. "What is it?" she asked.

"Are you going to be careful in that castle?" He barely concealed his distaste.

"Yes," she said and nodded.

He stepped toward her and drew within arm's reach. "You be sure to call me if you get into trouble up there and need help. I don't trust the vampires that are in charge."

"Don't worry about me, Michael. I think I can handle myself."

He leaned in for a kiss and she closed her eyes. "I want to keep going," he whispered in her ear, "but it still smells like somebody else's sex in here."

She grinned and gave him a gentle shove backward.

After driving him back to his apartment and joining him in bed for an hour, she settled back into the Audi and began the zig-zagging trip back to Heroes' Square and to find her pathway to the E71. Once underway, she placed a call to Lord Florian.

"Mission complete, Lord," she said, "but with one modification."

"What's that?"

"Instead of confiscating the UV generator, I destroyed it."

"Well then, you will report to me when you arrive to explain."

After a moment of processing, she said, "I understand."

"Aside from that, Lady Léna would also like to see you."

"Concerning the same matter, Lord?"

"No, but it would be a convenient time to pay your respects."

Selene shut her eyes. "After I report and settle in, I shall do so," she said formally. _It's good to have Florian back,_ she thought.

  
\--0--  
  
  
After the firm tongue-lashing by Lord Florian, she left his office – a makeshift affair tucked into the corner of a library. He set firm boundaries and spoke with authority that he actually had.

Avenging the death of her family and joining a war had kept her focused. It had become her task once fully a death dealer. Now, a new task presented itself: she would work within the coven to change it so that no others like her are similarly led astray. In order to do this, she would need allies within the coven. Perhaps Léna would, ironically, assist. Perhaps she would indeed kneel before Léna as Florian had suggested. _But I will not lower my eyes so I don't see._

What she saw was this: aside from Florian, her only peers were the surviving handful of death dealers from her former home. They made up a clan of former loyalists to a discredited, at least in her eyes, Elder. Despite the recent change in her feelings for the man, this truth defined them and set them apart from the long-time residents of Castle Víg. Even stranger were the vampires from overseas, who practiced different habits and spoke a different language. Despite all of their differences, however, they closed ranks to strengthen what they had left. Léna was apparently given free access to the financial infrastructure of the coven despite her questionable mental infrastructure. It could very well be that nobody had the talent to oversee her activities and so the coven was at the mercy of her decisions. Perhaps the new council would change that.

She descended from the upper stories to the now-familiar wide plaza of the ground level of the castle, where high ceilings suspended gigantic, electric chandeliers into sumptuous surrounds. They provided the light within while the huge window shutters banished the light without. She found another set of steps and made for the basement levels, where most of the death dealers sequestered themselves during the day. Her mind calculated as she went – avenues of ingress, avenues of egress. She would have ample time to explore the castle and assess security, she knew, but she found it difficult not to poke her head out at each of three sub-levels to see the layout and determine how best they could be protected. She learned this new castle as she learned her new, again, life.

She found her suite and inventoried the contents. Compared to the old, Spartan conditions in Ordogház, her new accommodations were huge. As in Ordogház, suites of dead vampires, or more rarely those that had moved out, were kept in stasis and new residents inherited the prior occupant's possessions. She thought about the death dealers from her former home who'd died or gone missing and were presumed killed in the last month... _Adrian, Nathaniel, Rigel, Miklós, Stanislaus, Mason..._ The lycans she killed, _they_ killed, had names, too, but she didn't know them. _...Tristan, Szilárd, Gusztáv, Cross, Achim... I killed Sylvan myself by breaking his neck..._ If anybody had a problem with the death of Sylvan, they weren't saying. _The dead are dead._ She unloaded the collection of Tanis' weapons from her knapsack and placed them on the bunk.

Frida, a servant on her level, tapped on her door jamb, introduced herself to Selene, and briefed her on the features of her suite. Services were similar to the Ordogház way; the internal communication system was upgraded, however, compared to that of the old mansion. Intercoms and telephones seemed to be the preferred communications media, rather than the sending of messengers. She noted few servants, but she wasn't sure if they tended nobles preferentially.

After Frida disappeared, another visitor arrived and knocked on her door jamb. He held a silver server on which rested two engraved, silver flutes containing most likely a warm, liquid meal. "I've brought a welcoming present from Lady Léna," said the vampire from the doorway in accented English.

She sized him up and ventured, "Xavier, is it?" The troop from Brazil had varying reactions to her and this was the friendliest thus far.

"Correct."

"I don't need an introduction, of course." She then decided to be different and bridge the great ocean. She put out her hand and he shook it. She then waved him in. "I didn't know welcoming was hers to extend, since she's not the castle master."

Xavier knit his brows together. "I'm sorry. Perhaps her intentions are being misunderstood."

"You do know our history, though," she said in an attempt to smooth over her inadvertent insult.

"Yes, I do know, Selene," he said earnestly. He held out the tray toward her and, after giving it a second thought, she took the silver flute. "To the coven: may she continue to be strong and just," he added and then drank from his own.

Selene didn't disagree, but those words could've easily been uttered by Viktor once upon a time. Then she realized that it might very well be what was happening. _Drink, and let the coven sustain you,_ she thought, remembering his often spoken words, as the warm liquid flowed down her throat.

"That's quite a collection that you have there," he said, indicating Tanis' collection with his silver cup.

Selene looked over her shoulder. "That's all that is left in Lord Tanis' arsenal. It's ironic, actually - I exiled him centuries ago, from this very castle, but now I've repatriated his weapons."

"Léna would like to meet with you. Is now a good time?"

"Yes," she said. She took the server and placed it on the bureau with her flute on top. She indicated the doorway and then followed him out into the corridor. "I thought you, Ádám, and the rest would be long gone by now," she said as she and Xavier set off down the corridor together.

Xavier seemed to sigh. "Yes, we did, too. But I'm afraid you're stuck with us until Lady Léna decides to return to São Paulo. Where she goes, we go."

They reached the steps and began their descent. "What is she doing while she's here?"

Xavier grinned placidly. "She's tracking down the money, reconstructing accounts, and fixing the books. Also training some new accountants..."

"And also waging war on lycans," she reminded him.

"She has no role in our current campaign."

"Whom do you report to?"

Xavier's eyes went out of focus for a moment in thought. "We act in the best interests of Lady Amelia."

She stopped on a landing in the flight of stairs and folded her arms. "It's too bad that she's dead and can't appreciate it."

"Retaliation and defense are our right, Selene. We also protect Lady Léna and her interests."

"Have you considered that war on lycans may not be in her best interest? Or of Lady Amelia's?"

"That is not for her to decide."

"Amelia wanted peace. Léna told me herself."

"Until they killed her, I'm sure it made perfect sense. I'm sorry you don't understand. Kou, Ádám, Orbán, and the rest don't seem to have issues."

Of a sudden Duncan lurched out of a doorway and proceeded up the stairs toward them, taking steps two at a time. "Sword games start at sundown. You two," he said and pointed at both of them for emphasis, "can settle it downstairs."

Selene and Xavier watched his departing back as he clunked upstairs, taking the tension in the air with him. "Tell me something," Xavier said, "what are these 'sword games'?"

"It's tradition. In the basement of Ordogház, we had sword duels to perfect our technique. More accurately, if you could get the shit beat out of you and remain standing, you fought lycans. It was also a way to settle scores. Sword play went by the wayside when we switched to machine guns." She recalled Xavier's challenge to Florian in Polgár's back yard and continued, "Lord Florian is the best blade handler we have. Now, he's head of security and we're all the better for it, if you ask me." They finished the descent without speaking further. They arrived outside the large, elongated room that served as Marcus' audience. "I've been here before," she remarked, recalling when she'd shown up three centuries ago to fetch Tanis and to convey him to exile.

"Indeed?" he said. He nodded to the diminutive Kollárista she'd met the night of the social ball and the unpleasant encounter with Lord Víg. "That's Luz, in case you haven't been introduced."

She nodded to Luz and then abruptly turned back to Xavier. "What do you think of Lord Víg?" she asked suddenly.

He glanced at her in surprise and then turned away, seemingly wrenched into an emotional place against his will. "He is Lady Léna's lover – but other than that I have no opinion. My only thoughts are of Lady Amelia, forever departed." Then he looked back at her and grinned. "Let's go in. There's a princess just as fair, within."

The comment puzzled Selene, but she followed him in. _There's more he's not telling me,_ she thought. As they entered, two guardians glanced at them sideways. Several vampires milled around the audience room; she surmised somebody must have put the word out that she was coming. They spoke her name as they parted at their approach. She heard the familiar voices of Kou and Márton, as well as several others that she did not know. _What am I walking into? What's going on?_ Electricity in the air energized her, as it had back in the days of Ordogház when they were loosed in the night.

The long room afforded the visitor, or subjected the visitor to, depending on the perspective, the longest possible look at the one seated in the large chair at the front. Lady Léna sat in that chair, Lord Marcus' chair, with Lord Víg standing beside. A handful of other nobles stood near the front of the room. Xavier stayed behind her and to the side as she walked. As they did so, she noted portraits on the walls at regular intervals – Corvinus family members, she surmised. She looked for resemblances, but none were obvious. Etched into the wall behind Léna were designs and symbols from ancient times that only Lord Marcus would appreciate, perhaps. Electric torches sat unused in the corners in favor of large, lit, flaming torches atop posts on either side of the dais. _These same torches lit this room when I came to collect Tanis,_ she thought. Marcus seemed perpetually drawn to flame, even as the insane, sucking, moth creature that she'd killed.

Before her, Léna wore a long black gown with the vampire helix woven in silver at the hem. Black lace under a cord of silver lattice rested on her chest and about her neck. She physically resembled her Elder mother, but sat in the throne of and in the house of Lord Marcus. She flexed her arms wide across the arm rests, reminding her of Viktor as he so often had appeared to her in earlier times. This Lady Léna certainly comported herself as an Elder, but she'd previously pleaded that she was not one. _I wonder, now, if that is still true. So much of what seems true is actually not._ Selene came with the expectation that she might make The Bow, as Florian had suggested, but after viewing the scene before her, she had second thoughts. _Léna is too much like Viktor, but not enough like an Elder. No, now is not the time._

Léna's greeting echoed around the room and chilled her. "Welcome home, Selene," she said.

Selene met her gaze and said nothing. She thought of Michael and wished he was there with her. She wondered what strange regime clung to power. The coven government had been ratified, yet here sat Lady Léna in Lord Marcus' chair. The others in the room seemed to be at ease, so she assumed that her history with Viktor and the subsequent deaths of Marcus and Viktor by her hand made things different for her. It had been good, in a way, to be Viktor's favorite – she'd known her place and it was by his side. It was different, now, and she was virtually on her own. She would have to live and survive in the coven on the terms of others, when before she dwelt in Viktor's shadow and had not a care save dispatching lycans. Now Viktor's shadow was before her, and she felt drawn and repulsed at the same time. She thought of a response to Léna's greeting, but before she could express it, became distracted by the movement of Léna's right hand.

Léna's eyes moved, also, to her hand as it gathered something that made a metallic scrape against the wood of the throne. Léna then locked eyes with Selene again and rose, with a sword in her hand. Selene recognized it immediately as one of two that had belonged to her, likely rescued from her basement suite at Ordogház. Despite this, she instinctively tensed and increased the real estate between her feet. By the time Léna had lifted the blade, she'd calculated her opponent's body weight, upper-body strength, likely skill with a blade of that size, and how she would take Léna down and disarm her. _Must I kill Viktor again?_ she thought.

Léna stepped down from the dais and walked toward her. "In days of old, when my mother was in ill humor, she would touch a sword to the shoulders of those who knelt before her." Léna held the sword by the handle and cradled the blade in her left hand. "The implication was that those before her pleaded for their lives when kneeling – without saying so, of course."

Selene thought back to the time when, just after she was turned, Kraven first commanded her to kneel before Viktor. That sign of submission she'd performed willingly for ages afterward, as any good vampire would. But now, Viktor was gone and the submission with him – except for the shadow approaching her. In her peripheral vision, Xavier tensed over his weapon. She glanced over at him, wondering about his strange behavior and intentions. She shifted her weight again and recalculated the order of her potential counterattack. After a moment or two she turned her attention back to the woman approaching.

Léna stopped in front of her and said, "She also granted pardons thus." She looked down at the blade in her hand and reversed it. Then, she held it out to Selene, lowered herself to one knee, and to audible, echoing gasps, bowed her head. "Spare me, now," she said.

On the dais, Víg suddenly looked around at the nobles gathered there. They all appeared as confused as he. She looked over at Xavier again, who stared at them both, wide-eyed. The warriors in the back, alarmed also, walked forward to get a better look. A hush descended while Selene took the old sword from Léna's outstretched fingers. Almost 20 seconds passed while she held it, trying to make sense of what was happening. _What is she doing? Why is she doing it?_ "I don't know what to say," Selene said almost under her breath. She held the sword at her right side, point down, not intending to use it on anything. It had been a decade since she'd held it for any other reason than to dust it off and replace it on her wall.

"Tell me to rise," Léna whispered.

"Rise, Lady Léna."

She rose to her full height, made eye contact, and then broke it. She took one step back and then stepped around Selene's left side and walked down the length of the room and out. Selene turned around and met Xavier's gaze. He seemed amused. Then she looked to the front of the room where Lord Víg stood, still, next to the throne. He was decidedly not amused and barely kept his eyes from lighting on fire.

Víg could control himself no longer and lurched from the dais. He gave Selene a poisonous look as he passed her and then marched down the center of the room, probably in pursuit of Léna. Selene and Xavier stood together and watched his retreating form. Then others began to file out.

Xavier rested a hand on her shoulder. He suppressed a grin.

"What is it?" Selene asked.

"You two were speaking Magyar, so I don't exactly know. But I think... she asked, on behalf of the Elders, for forgiveness."

He played the part of Michael, stating to her what should have been obvious. "What?" was all she could manage.

"And you pardoned...her."

"I did? When I told her to rise? I don't understand. What happened here?"

"She offered you her head."

"Xavier, I couldn't kill her." Selene raised her sword slightly in the direction Léna had gone. "She's the only one who can turn mortals into vampires, now. And that's if she actually knows. Has anybody thought of that? We can't kill her. We might be signing our own death sentence."

Xavier looked at her in surprise and with moist eyes. "Join the club."

"What?"

"Nothing." Xavier shook his head and then looked at her. "I think you just acquired some new allies."

Selene shook her own head and walked away from him, out the door. _Maybe some new enemies, too. Maybe it would've been better if I had bowed instead._

  
\--0--  
  
  
 _...I frankly don't believe it. Lord Kraven was a victim of lycan duplicity. Also a victim, one could say, of his own lust for power. Lucian offered him a deal, but what Lucian really wanted evidently was to become a hybrid and kill us off..._

"I thought Víg would be here," Selene said in English.

Léna looked back at Selene from over the display of her laptop. She sat back in her chair. "No."

Xavier and Luz stood on either side of the conversational cord between Selene and Léna, watching the proceedings. "Do you know where he is?"

"I haven't seen him since you and I met downstairs." Léna closed the laptop and then propped her elbows on the desk in front of it. She clasped her hands and put her fingers on her lips. "What can I do for you, Selene?"

 _What an odd sort of question,_ Selene thought. She eyed the Kolláristas and decided she needed to be careful. The three warriors sized each other up. Despite being lately on friendly terms with Xavier, she didn't know if his friendly relationship extended to his duty to Léna. Though she spoke her mind most times, she diplomatically decided not to bring up Xavier's interpretation of the events of the last half-hour. It's not what she came to discuss anyway. "I want to discuss something of some delicacy with you – perhaps it would be best if we were alone?"

Xavier shifted his feet and Luz looked at him nervously. He spoke some Portuguese to her, which caused her to look in Selene's direction in some alarm. Then Léna spoke and apparently dismissed them; they filed out with reluctant facial expressions.

"They will be in earshot if needed," Léna said softly in Magyar. "Proceed."

"Have you noticed anything strange about Lord Víg?"

Léna appeared to breathe a laugh. "We are all strange, are we not? What do you mean?"

"When you and I met at the ball, he made some comments that made me think he had more than second-hand knowledge of the conspiracy against your mother and Council."

Léna closed her eyes, sighed, and then looked at Selene hard. "What's this about, Selene? Is this a security-related matter?"

"Possibly."

Léna rose to standing and planted her hands on either side of her desk. She said, softly but firmly, "I bowed at your feet to clear the air. Why cloud it again?"

Any friendly cord Selene might have felt between herself and Léna disappeared just then. She lapsed into formality to extricate herself. She'd presented something suspicious, something that tickled in her subconscious but couldn't quite put her finger on. "I felt it was my duty to bring it to your attention as a part of an investigation." _Maybe I shouldn't have tipped her off._

"Investigation?"

"It is perhaps nothing."

"Warriors of this castle seem to find it sporting to probe into my personal affairs."

Selene felt as if she were being upbraided by her former mentor, Lord Viktor. She would have none of it. Their voices had risen through conversational decibels and now grew terse. "I am merely discharging my duties in the best way that I can. If my work in this regard is substandard, perhaps I can serve my coven in some other way."

Léna blinked and took a step back toward a far corner of her desk while keeping her fingers on it and her eyes on Selene. She took the volume down a notch. "It's a new day, Selene. Do not trouble yourself longer with things that have happened in the past. All that you need to keep your eyes open for are direct threats to the coven. Isn't that what has been agreed to?"

"I understand," said Selene. _But I can't simply forget something that I heard._

"Leave Lord Víg to me, please. I am in the best position to notice something if something is to be noticed."

Selene looked back at her and searched her eyes for an unsaid something – but nothing was there.

"Do you have any other concerns that you'd like to bring before me?" prompted Léna.

Selene sighed under her breath. _No, My Lady,_ she thought. Then she said, actually, just "No," and left.

She'd scarcely reached the landing and had enough time to replay in her head what had just transpired when she saw Lord Víg approaching below. He ignored and then passed Luz, who followed him with her gaze. She surmised another Kollárista lurked in the shadowy stair just out of view as Luz turned back and spoke briefly to somebody. Selene paused at the landing and then proceeded down the steps to the common corridor.

She planned to give him the briefest acknowledgment as she passed him in the corridor and she hoped he would not find it necessary to speak to her in any form or fashion. Her body tensed and she strode purposefully. Then his upraised finger attracted her attention and she slowed. "Lord?" she said as he blocked her path.

He took a breath inward, paused for thought and then said, "I'm not sure what she thought she was doing downstairs, but authority still rests with me, members of Council, and etcetera. Is that understood?"

She swallowed hard and resisted the urge to drive the palm of her hand into his face. _I'm not a child,_ she thought. "Understood," she said, simply.

He released her, gave her a good up-and-down look, and then turned on his heel in the direction of Léna's suite.

Selene blew out a breath and continued on. _Léna can sit wherever the hell she wants in this castle, but..._ As she neared Luz and her alarmed expression, she continued out loud, "He's still only one-third of Council."

  
\--0--  
  
  
Léna had scarcely put her mind at ease from the seed that Selene had unceremoniously planted in it, when Víg lurched in, eyes on fire. She'd left her desk and had gone to sit at the hearth to gaze within and receive the warmth in return.

"What was _that?_ " he demanded. She'd expected puzzlement, perhaps, based on their conversation just days ago but not finger-stabbing fury. He towered over her with his flaming eyes. "What I expected was Selene back in the fold, fully submissive, and under control, as it was before."

 _As before._ Léna stood with the fire behind her and met his glare. "I gave Selene what was due her. I was the only one who could make that gesture to her and make it mean anything."

"That's not it. What was the real purpose? You've given her some kind of legitimacy that she's not really entitled to. Remember what she is – just a foot-soldier. You've probably got the whole coven thinking you two are allies."

"Allies in what?"

"I don't know – some kind of conspiracy. You can't bow to her. What were you doing – resurrecting some long-dead custom of the Elders? Let me remind you that they're finished. Gone! There's no use in confusing people." His rage appearing nearly spent, his features began to soften.

Léna counterattacked. "We both wanted her back in the coven and _that's_ been accomplished. Why are you not satisfied? Why does she threaten you?"

Víg struggled to regain composure. "She does _not_ threaten me. But your submissive, servant-like pose sends the wrong signal."

"The Elders are _not_ dead, _Lord_ Víg," Léna spat.

"Neither is..." and then he caught himself.

"Neither?" she cooed. "But what is this? Somebody from the past? Perhaps somebody from the past who desires Selene?"

"Don't be silly," he clipped. "What are you talking about?"

She took a step forward. "Did that leech, Kraven, dine on your blood and vice-versa?"

"What did Selene say to you just now? Perhaps in your newfound alliance, she is trying to turn you against me – the old mentor and the old pupil, together again."

"Sentimental, but unrealistic. Hate transcends death, but so does love. You love Selene and you used me to get her back." Her voice had gone soft, but her eyes remained hard, threatening to catch fire.

"Would you listen to yourself? Only Elders can organize memories from others."

"You lied to my mother and you're lying now."

"That's nonsense. I have no feelings for Selene. She's a glorified servant, that's all. Where do you get your notions – as if I didn't know?"

The fire cracked and popped behind her. "You started giving yourself away a long time ago."

Víg took a step back. "It is _you_ , or Viktor's memory, that wants Selene."

"Yes, Viktor favored Selene," Léna said, taking another step toward him. "...as do I. You know what the truth is, don't you?" She laid a hand on his chest. "Here is another truth: I don't share." With that, she shoved him.

He pitched backward, but caught himself before falling to the floor at the step leading to the antechamber. When he looked up, his eyes had lit again. He stepped into the antechamber and through clenched teeth said, "You're not welcome in my castle any longer. And perhaps Selene is not, either."

"Kraven," a voice said in English through a hiss in the doorway behind him.

Víg turned abruptly toward the visitor.

Xavier crept in, his own eyes full of fury. "Murderer," he hissed next. He stepped into the antechamber and crept toward Víg. "I've found the murderer of Amelia," he said as triumphantly as he could through a sneer.

"Get out of my way, vampire. I'm warning you," growled Víg.

Behind Xavier, Luz walked in, alarmed, confused, and not understanding a word of the conversation. "Como vai?" she prompted, looking at each of them in turn.

Xavier's appearance stole the anger from Léna. Concern, and even panic, filled the space instead. "Don't do this, Xavier," she barked in Portuguese and approached him.

Xavier shook with anger. "I _live_ for this, Léna. This vampire, what this vampire has inside him killed your mother."

That got Luz's attention. She gave Víg a hard stare and then looked a question at Léna.

Léna's face crumpled in emotion despite her best effort to control herself. "You're making this situation worse, and not better," she said to him.

"What are you saying?" Víg demanded, now positioned behind her left ear and near her desk.

"Shut up or I'll turn them loose on you," she snapped in Magyar.

He reacted by reaching for the phone on Léna's desk to his left. Luz responded by putting her machine pistol against his temple. Víg froze.

"Xavier," Léna said, "he didn't kill my mother. It's just a memory. This man isn't Kraven – he just has his memory." She wondered if she would have to kill, or at least disable Xavier just as she'd requested he do to her if she lost her way.

"I will not rest..."

"Xavier! You have to stop this. Stop the cycle. If you kill him, you put our entire coven in jeopardy. We will lose our autonomy in São Paulo and everything we've been trying to achieve." She felt tears flowing, now. Oh, how she wished she could command him to stop. "I need you here with me and my memory."

"She was all to me and all to us," Xavier said. "It's the only thing I can do." Then he turned his attention to Víg, still standing behind Léna. "You and I will decide this in a duel. ... like the death dealers do. If I live, I have vengeance for all of us. If I die, I join my Lady Amelia."

Emboldened, Víg shouldered around Léna and rounded on Xavier – still with Luz's pistol pressed against his head. "I'll do no such thing."

"Not feeling up to it, huh?"

"Or perhaps I'll have my champion, Orbán, shred you." He shoved Luz's pistol away and turned back to Léna. "But I'll spare Lady Léna the spectacle. I do have my honor not that you see it." Then he turned to face Xavier once more. "You, vampire, have no standing..."

But his comment was abruptly cut off by a blur of movement that made Léna jump. As her mind caught up, she realized that Luz had leapt at Xavier with immortal flash speed, pinning against the antechamber wall his left hand which had produced a sword and which had begun an arc toward Víg's head.

Léna's mind processed Luz's word: "Hold!" in Portuguese, she said.

Víg moved toward the doorway and glared at the Brazilians. "Well, what do we do, now? I have to confine him."

Léna looked back at him in exasperation. "Why don't you leave him to me? I don't think you really want to be on the bad side of Ádám and Treva."

Víg turned and headed for the exit. Over his shoulder he said, "As an alternative, at sundown, I want you and all of your Brazilians, out. I don't care where you go." Then he continued on and left them with the sound of his receding footsteps on the stone. All became quiet except for Xavier's and Léna's heavy breathing.

Luz stood and offered her Xavier's sword. "Grata, Luz," she said absently. She took it, and in the same motion wiped tears from her face with the back of the same hand. _I can't leave this castle. This is my castle,_ Léna thought. Somewhere deep within, a long-held resentment stirred and tried to be remembered. A part of _him_ was being taken away... Controlling her breathing and anxiety suddenly became difficult.

"Minha Senhora, you need to sit down," said Luz, speaking in Portuguese.

She laid the sword next to her laptop and leaned against the edge of the desk. She felt control slipping away from her. She shook with unexplainable rage and sadness. It was Lord Marcus' memory, she fully realized, but she identified with it and gave herself to it. Memory was memory and she couldn't turn it off.

"We will put darts in him and his if he tries to expel us," declared Luz.

Léna ignored her and addressed Xavier, who sulked against the antechamber wall, massaging his arm. "How the hell did you figure out what we said? You don't speak a syllable of Magyar," said Léna with incredulity.

Luz answered for him. "Treva could hear you two shouting all the way through my open mic connection. She has the ears of a lycan."

Léna expelled a breath and looked back down. "I appreciate your willingness to fight, but confronting Víg head-on will cause more problems than it will solve. It would be pointless. Perhaps we should just leave to avoid the conflict." _Not only between us and Víg's vampires but between you and Treva._ Speaking in Portuguese relaxed Léna and the flood of Marcus' memories began to ebb, revealing the extent of her shattered plans.

"We'll not permit you to leave," said Xavier, who had fully recovered and now spoke with his jaw set. "Vampires just don't throw vampires out of shelter. I don't think Lord Víg has a leg to stand on in this... especially since you're the only vampire left in the coven who can turn mortals at will."

The hairs stood up on her neck. She stood still for a moment and then slowly lifted her head to look at him. _Oh my God._ "Xavier, I can't."

"Don't you have the knowledge of the Elders?"

"Yes, but that doesn't automatically translate into ability. Makers aren't born with the talent and my situation is no different."


	13. Game

"Yes, Captain... Just ready the jet... We'll see you when we see you... There'll be six of us... Tchau." Léna pressed the button on the cordless and put it in Claire's hand, which had appeared behind her in the reflection.

"Sparring this afternoon, My Lady?"

Claire's perky officiousness contrasted starkly with Léna's sullen mood. The prospect of the loss of the castle continued to weigh heavily on her. She felt also a consequent loss of purpose – of work yet to be concluded, financially, racially, and politically. She'd been behaving as a ghost, pursuing, among other things, her mother's killers and those responsible. One of those she'd exposed yesternight. She was nearly certain that Víg and Kraven had shared each other's blood. She puzzled over what justice there could be for him, but she knew what it must be in the eyes of the Elders. _Mother, I've failed._

She'd also sought to atone for Viktor's sins against Selene's family, whether Viktor would've liked it or not. Her own mother had known, but done nothing, leaving it all to Viktor. _It's Viktor's affair_ , she'd said. Selene and Michael were important to the coven's survival, and it was essential that things were put right, however symbolically. Truce and lasting peace with the lycans remained on her agenda – this would prove more difficult so long as the right arm of her mother, Ádám, slashed at them. But now it seemed that she and the Kolláristas would make a strategic retreat – this would slow, but not stop, the punishment of the lycans. Then it would be up to Lord Dömötör to convince Council that ending the war would be a more prudent policy than pursuing it – the survival of the coven now depended on peace. She made a mental note to call to let him know that they would be returning to São Paulo in the not-too-distant future.

Léna noticed that Claire's image still kept company with hers in the mirror. She returned her thoughts to Claire's question. "Yes, that's actually a good idea. No makeup, then."

"You hardly slept, My Lady. Are you sure?"

She closed her eyes while Claire combed her hair. "Lord Víg and I had a quarrel."

"Your hair has grown longer since you've been here so long," she remarked. Claire then looked up to meet Léna's look of exasperation in her image in the mirror. "Perhaps you should talk to him. He's a reasonable man. Things usually are different after a sleep."

"Yes. But I'm not sure in this case." _Memories don't sober up and he'll remember that shove._

Claire put Léna's hair into two short braids. "Done," she said and rested her hands on Léna's shoulders. Léna opened her eyes and regarded the both of them in the mirror. "Why don't you go talk to him? The worst he can do is to turn you away. And then you'll just get on the airplane and go."

"This might be goodbye, then."

"Goodbye," Claire said.

Léna made a flicker of a smile. She stood and went to the state room from her bedchamber, intending to organize her possessions for the upcoming journey back to the Western Hemisphere. With her black, silk sleep shirt billowing around her, she walked part way into the darkened state room and then stopped dead at the sound of a soft whistle from the direction of the nearly extinguished fire. She gazed into the murk and waited for the source of the sound to resolve as her eyes acclimated. A familiar gravelly croak sounded from the fireplace – first chuckling and then speaking. "Oh, you two _did_ have a fight, else you wouldn't be here."

Her heart skipped a beat at the confirmation. "Ádám, were you here all day?" was all Léna could manage in response.

"Yes. Claire and I had some good chats," he breathed as much as he spoke. He rose from a reclining position on her usual metal chair and stood, eclipsing the remains of the fire. He opened the glass shield, stirred up the embers with a poker, and then replaced it on the hearth with a clank.

 _Perhaps he thinks this is some kind of opening,_ Léna thought.

"Xavier and I had a good chat, too," Ádám continued.

"He squealed again," Léna replied, feigning amusement.

"Yeah. If he didn't talk, we'd have no idea what was going on."

Léna took a step toward him. She tried to sound authoritative, next. "Treva is going to get her wish. We leave tonight."

"Really?" said Ádám.

"Yes, really," she said, turning her attention toward her desk.

"And we didn't get to tell him what we thought of his hospitality."

Léna spun back. "Ádám, please don't do _anything._ "

He put his hands up in self-defense. "Who says I'm going to do anything? It sounds like you took care of things yourself last night," Ádám purred and then indicated the fire. "Wish I could've been here. Where did it happen? Here or someplace more public?"

Aside from the glow of the embers and the faint light spilling from the bedchamber, they stood in near total darkness. They were just shadows and voices. She closed her eyes, anyway, lost in the trance of his voice.

"That's the thing about a vampire's memory. We don't forget anything," he continued slowly, deliberately, and hypnotically. "Forgive? Perhaps. Forget? Never. Oh, and I've felt your wrath, as well, when you imagined your mother and I together, for example." His voice grew louder as he drew nearer. She stirred as he approached, like the embers, threatening to come alight if he touched her.

"Ádám, why bring this up now?"

"Why not?"

"Shouldn't you be out playing?"

"I should stay in more often," he said with a smile in his voice. "Things are just as interesting here as they are at the end of my blade." He came dangerously close and then turned away at the last moment to wander about the room. "So what's with The Bow?"

 _Come closer again._ "I tried to make amends for what Lord Viktor did to her."

"So you acknowledge that you are a proxy for the Elders?"

"... and Selene forgave the Elders, through me."

"Selene, my dear, didn't know what the hell she was doing. _You_ , however, knew exactly what you were doing. You impress me as usual. Selene's rage against Viktor has been neutralized – or so you think. What would it take to neutralize your rage against Lord Kraven? Will you go to Lord Víg and let him go down on you?"

"It hadn't crossed my mind," she said, unconvincingly. She gritted her teeth.

"I know you, Léna. Anyway, now that you and Selene are married to each other, maybe I should start getting chummy with her and Michael, is that it?"

"That would be fabulous, Ádám," Léna said sarcastically, opening her eyes finally, but looking at nothing in particular. His button-pushing had broken his spell.

"That's fine. It's no skin off my back. Ha – I've been ripping the skin off lycans since almost the night I arrived. I haven't time for issues between vampires. You gave me a good smack, years ago and look, here we are, talking to each other like adults. I'm a big fan of rapprochement, especially your version of it. There's no reason why I can't mend fences with Selene for decking you. I'll do it cheerfully. What you do with Lord Víg – that's between you two."

Léna had heard enough. "It's time for you to leave, Ádám." She walked to the closed, solid wooden double doors and turned on a light on a small table nearby. She'd not shut, much less locked, them since she'd arrived four weeks ago. After Xavier and Luz had brandished weapons in Víg's direction, it had seemed prudent. "How did you get in here, anyway?"

"Your mortal let me in. I can be very persuasive." With that he winked.

Léna turned away from him and opened the doors. She glanced down the steps and was surprised to see a figure approach at the bottom. She regained her composure and said, "Yes, Orbán?" Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ádám tense.

Orbán peered up at her from the bottom of the short stair. He then cast his eyes downward, refusing to even ogle her bare legs as she would expect. Then she realized he was performing a duty that he would rather not. "Lord Víg wanted to remind you... that breakfast is at 1800. He wanted to make sure that you would be there."

 _What was the point?_ "Tell him... that I'll gladly dine with him if he'll join me in the sparring ring downstairs." She glanced back inside at Ádám.

"I'll pass that along," Orbán replied politely after a moment and then quickly left.

She returned her attention to Ádám. "Why did you come here, anyway?" she prompted before he could comment on her reply to Orbán.

"After what happened last night, I thought it best to attend to you personally, especially with that fellow around."

"Aren't you friendly with Orbán?"

"Of course. He's got no love for lycans. He's been good out there, but that's as far as I trust him. If his Lord tells him to do something, he'll do it, the same as I. We've known each other a long time and I know his Lord."

"Would you kill his Lord?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Do you want to?"

"No. I'll let Xavier have that honor, Léna."

"I don't want him to."

"You can't persuade him not to?"

"He's become a death dealer with Víg in his sights. I don't think I can convince him that Víg has committed no crime."

"That's not the story I heard," he said, nodding toward the bedchamber. "Besides, Víg is your lover and Xavier is not. It's not like he doesn't have a vested interest."

"Is that what is in your mind? I don't think it's in his."

"Point scored."

"Let me throw some water on your line of thought. Lord Marcus killed your father, but you feel no need to kill _me_."

"I suppose you're a proxy if somebody wants to believe you're a proxy. How serious was your quarrel with Víg anyway?"

"Quite. But I cannot leave. Therefore, I must convince him not to turn us out."

Ádám's eyes squinted in thought. "Throw some cold water on Xavier. Perhaps Víg will be appreciative."

Léna returned to her bedchamber after Ádám left to find Claire busily making up the bed and packing clothes. She looked at her with concern. "My Lady, will you be dressing for breakfast?"

"No. I'll take it in the basement gymnasium."

Claire looked at her with an expression of shock. "It must have been a serious quarrel, My Lady."

"Yes. Haven't you had such?" In the long life of her memory, she'd actually experienced much worse, especially the endurance tests that her mother engaged in while at Council. She felt her mother's relief at having established the Brazilian coven, at least on paper, just before she'd last slept. Then Léna felt anew the grief from being turned out of her home and being deprived of something that was uniquely hers – as Marcus would. _If Marcus couldn't have a brother, then he would have this castle. My castle._

Claire sighed. "I have. But you are not wise to insult Lord Víg in this way."

"Lord Víg has a lot to answer for. I cannot dine with him. He has requested that I leave and therefore I am not under any obligation to continue to be a part of his charade."

"Will you still be leaving, My Lady?" Claire asked with another sigh. She left unstated that she wished Léna wouldn't.

"I am unsure," she said, thinking out loud. Marcus' memories within refused to let her leave – as if they knew they would extinguish once out of the castle and in the air, headed west, to the new land of Amelia. Then she turned back to Claire. "But, please continue to pack my things as we may yet leave." _Unless Marcus convinces me to stay._

"As you wish. Will you try to speak with Lord Víg, then?"

"Perhaps," Léna responded and then added, "I'll be with Treva for now, but he will have an opportunity during sword games if he so chooses."

  
\--0--  
  
  
The craftsman was dead, of that she was nearly certain. Georg had made her two – the one she held in her hand was the larger. Both had been made perfectly balanced – the smith only had to size her up and weeks later, they'd appeared in her suite at Ordogház. The inscription read: _"Property of Selene, Anno. 1735"_ – a throwback to an earlier time. In recent times a death dealer received a set of firearms instead of hand-forged sword with their name etched. She dropped it on her bunk with a thump.

In Ordogház, sword games had featured equal parts entertainment, training, practice, and score-settling. The vampires had a formal training program, but many times they'd just beat each other senseless with anything ranging from the most ornamental blades down to rudimentary slabs of metal. The vampires' bodies absorbed near-deadly punishment – all the better for preparing them for the ordeal of the contest against the lycans.

She remembered the kicks of Haruye in the early stages of her training, back in Ordogház. She'd been sliced with Duncan's sword and put on the mat by Kou. She'd scarcely participated lately, though, after having nearly broken off Soren's arm. For her, that had marked the beginning of the days of turmoil – eight years ago – leading up to the events of the last full moon. The moon was nearly full again and it put her on edge.

She'd left one house of intrigue and had entered another. The past 24 hours had been busy. Léna had offered her head to her. Xavier had reported a noisy breakup between Léna and Lord Víg. Xavier had also reported that Léna had virtually confirmed that Víg had ingested Kraven's blood and therefore possessed the memories of Kraven. Whether Léna could, in fact, turn a mortal at will or not remained to be seen. Léna's role remained unclear. If she could in fact turn mortals, then that was a vehicle to absolute power – or, to be used by others to gain absolute power in the coven. Fortunately she had the Kolláristas, who might protect her from nefarious characters who would use her abilities to seek just that. Her conversations with Xavier had been revealing – he'd insisted, once again, that Léna's bow meant something and implied a partnership of some kind.

A racket began on her floor, somewhere toward the end of the hall at the east stairs. The sound resembled drums, played fast and loud. She went to the entry to her suite just in time to witness three vampires wearing drums of varying sizes, energetically bashing away at them. Other vampires followed them, carrying swords or what passed for them, or nothing. The drummers throttled the skins, filling the air with a martial racket, seemingly designed to wake up and raise the blood pressure of any within earshot. _Do they do this every day to wake us all up?_ she wondered. _It must be the noise that Duncan spoke of._ In time, they left the floor via the west stairwell, but the reverberations continued from the next floor below.

She journeyed to the lowest floor of the castle, where she remembered the sparring rings were located. Perhaps 20 vampires in all had come to participate or in her case, view, the sword games or whatever else might be offered. The drummers took up residence in the center of the room, positioned in a circle, establishing a deafening, loping rhythm.

The three drummers continued for some 20 minutes, altering their cadence now and again, while vampires thrust at each other with swords. Selene couldn't help but be caught up in the spectacle, the energy, and the shared experience. The incessant, deafening pounding couldn't be ignored – only accepted and surrendered to. Each vampire became attuned to it and driven by it. They became mob.

Among the witnesses were Ádám and Xavier, who stood to the side and had an animated conversation in the rough tongue of their homeland. They drew curious looks from the assembly: a handful of Ordogház's death dealers and nearly equal numbers of vampires and death dealers from Castle Víg. She chose a seat atop a long, wooden feasting table, sharing the space with Haruye.

After what seemed like several minutes of hubbub, Haruye pointed with her eyes at a figure pushing through the crowd to get to the chalk outline that marked the primary sparring ring. Xavier entered the space carrying a sword and a grim countenance. Once inside the circle, the crowd grew quieter and the drumming abruptly quit. He looked around at his audience and then suddenly bellowed something in Portuguese. After a few moments, Ádám piped up from the periphery. "He wants the champion of Lord Víg, since he is unwilling to answer a challenge."

 _Oh, please,_ Selene thought.

"What's this about?" Haruye asked.

"I just saw him a night ago and he wasn't like this," Selene said under her breath. _Though he was certainly not chipper._

Xavier bellowed again, folded both his empty and sword arms, and then paced around the ring.

Another hubbub ensued as a vampire entered the room and strode toward the ring with his own slab of steel. _Florian,_ Selene noted almost immediately. He entered the ring and stood an arm-and-sword-length away from Xavier. The crowd went deathly silent. She turned at some movement to her right and behind her and found that Ádám had walked over and stood at her right shoulder.

Then the crowd began chattering yet again as two others entered the room – this time Léna and Treva. Treva chattered something to Léna which caused Ádám to rumble in amusement in response next to Selene. Léna made a move toward the ring, but Treva hooked her arm and pulled her into the crowd. Léna, distressed, initially resisted and then followed suit.

Florian silently stared down Xavier as patiently as a brick wall. Léna barked something in Portuguese, which elicited another rumble of mirth from the direction of Selene's right shoulder. Selene looked a question at him. "She just told Xavier that Florian _will_ kill him if he doesn't leave the ring and thus cancel the duel challenge."

"She's exactly right. What's this duel about exactly?"

"Short answer is that Xavier got wind that Víg has Kraven's memories."

"Yes, I knew about that."

"He wants to kill Víg to avenge Amelia's death."

Selene leaned forward and put her chin in her hand. _This might get ugly in a big hurry if Xavier doesn't slink out of that ring soon._ Killing Xavier would kill Florian's beloved unity. Around her, people passed along Ádám's translation amongst one another while Treva's translation followed a different track through the crowd by the ring.

Xavier had broken out in a sweat under Florian's withering stare and the lack of action made the crowd restless. The drumming started up again in an effort to agitate them into doing something entertaining to the crowd. Léna broke out of the crowd, stepped to a flagon on a silver tray on a nearby shelf, and grasped the long-handled cup hanging from the wall. She took a gulp of blood and pressed the back of her weaponless hand to her mouth. She then went to Xavier and gave him a stern talking to, in Portuguese, just centimeters from his ear. He turned toward her and appeared to listen intently.

"She told him that he could yield to her or yield to Luz again," said Ádám in a low voice at her shoulder. "Pretty cold."

Xavier exited to scattered whistles from the crowd. But now, Léna stood before Florian in a confusing face-off. It was obvious to Selene from the very beginning that Léna had no intention of fighting Florian – to do so would be suicidal and foolish had she even carried a weapon. In time, her bewildered expression disappeared and she adopted the facial set of an Elder. Or so it seemed to Selene. Léna gave Florian time to think about what he would do. Killing Amelia's daughter made absolutely no sense. Then, abruptly and with his trademark flourish, Florian rested the tip end of his sword in his free hand and bowed at the waist. Léna's eyes followed him – seemingly with a mixture of relief and satisfaction – as he left the ring. She then turned and nodded for Treva to come forth and join her in the ring.

And that was it: the duel ended with Florian withdrawing, although it barely resembled a traditional duel by the time Florian and Léna faced each other. "He thought she was an Elder," Ádám said, and walked off in the direction of Xavier, who stood forlornly near the exit. Florian and Amelia had been allies, after all.

The crowd responded favorably as Léna and Treva went into a bare-handed sparring routine. It wasn't a fight to the death, but it kept most of the vampires' attention. Haruye shook her head slowly as the combatants chopped and punched at each other. Léna had never struck Selene as athletic, but she exercised control in the face of Treva's superior ability. The crowd, which had shown hints of hostility toward Léna after facing down Florian, seemed to warm up to her after observing her willingness to get her nose bloody from Treva's knuckles.

A few in the crowd turned their attention to a smaller ring to the right of the exit and to the left of the bar where Xavier and Duncan joined each other with swords. "Perhaps Duncan will let Xavier win and then he'll feel better," remarked Ádám, who'd returned and stood between her and her view of the two men.

Selene kept her eye on the two women who gamely punched and blocked each other. Then Selene and Haruye saw it at the same time – a critical error by Treva that left her left flank exposed. Léna rewarded her by burying her knuckles into Treva's left cheekbone. _"Oh!"_ said the crowd. Léna completed the insult by executing a takedown. Watching it reminded Selene of the pain inflicted by Haruye in lessons past. She nudged Haruye with her elbow. When Haruye turned in her direction, Selene glanced toward the sparring ring and pursed her lips.

"In you go, teacher," Selene said. Haruye only looked back at her as she dropped off the table and onto the floor. Léna had unexpectedly gone into combat mode against Treva and she suspected that it got Haruye's hackles up. Léna was about to come in for a drubbing if she stayed in the ring to work out with Haruye. Selene wondered how Léna's hybrid Brazilian Jiu-jitsu would work against Haruye's Taekwondo.

In the ring, Léna sportingly helped Treva to her feet and handed her off to a spectator. As she straightened, she caught sight of Haruye entering the ring and giving her a serious look. After a moment, Léna got the message and nodded – evidently not knowing what she was in for. Haruye then began with a respectful bow, which Léna warily returned.

In the middle of Haruye's first roundhouse kick, Selene's phone beeped. She put it to her ear and the voice of Florian said, "Bad news Selene: the lycans just burned Huszár Mansion this afternoon, before sundown."

"Shit."

"Tell everybody to quit playing and come up to discuss."

Selene watched Léna fend off Haruye's kicks a few more moments before approaching to spoil their fun.

  
\--0--  
  
  
As the castle passed further into night, it awoke as if from a long slumber. Ádám's team, which had been wreaking havoc on the lycans for weeks, was immediately ordered by Florian out to meet up with Luz's team and lead the recovery effort at Huszár mansion.

Léna longed for the feel of a crossbow in her hand, so much so that her hand shook. The incident at Huszár Mansion cried out for action that she both relished and abhorred in the same instant. With Treva on her heels, she retreated to her state room. She knew Treva had a lot to tell her, but she had no interest at the moment in what she had to say. She had done what she had done to Treva, but more pressing matters occupied her mind. The vampires pulsed in the castle's corridors as if the avenues were great arteries. The Elders swirled and chased after one another in her mind – especially Marcus and her mother – the former because of the proximate threat to the castle and the latter because of the memory of a long-ago battle for a castle. Viktor, of course, had his own memory of an overwhelmed castle and strategic retreat, but welcomed the fight more than the others.

Claire met her in the antechamber with her usual expectant expression. "Your nose – let me get a washcloth," she said.

Léna shook her head. "Fetch me a crossbow, Claire."

"My Lady?"

"What the hell for?" snapped Treva in Portuguese.

"Evidently I didn't hit you hard enough," Léna said.

Treva's mouth went agape. "Are you listening to yourself?"

"There's no need to listen. I _am_ myself."

"I'm sorry," Treva said softly, "but you're not." She glanced at Claire who looked back at them both in confusion. Treva turned away and walked briskly out.

Léna followed her with her eyes and then turned back to Claire.

"My Lady, you must go to the armory. I know nothing of weapons."

"A shawl, then? I haven't got time to change."

Claire dutifully complied and she changed her top as well, so she wouldn't look completely like she'd just walked out of the gym. As she descended the steps leading from her state room, she noticed Treva posting guard at the top of the main steps leading two flights down to the plaza. She sported a prominent bruise below a slightly swollen left eye. Léna stopped and cupped her damaged cheek – and then stood back. "Do you know where they're meeting?"

"Víg's library," Treva said, nodding further down the corridor.

"Thank you," Léna said simply.

"Where will it end?" Treva asked as Léna walked away.

She glanced back, but had no answer. Her mind had returned to elsewhen, to a time where she'd been on the receiving end of an aggressive army's wrath and also a place where she knew intimate details about Castle Víg's fortifications, weaknesses, and defenses. Not only that, but she relived the night when she'd come upon Ordogház as she'd burned to ash. _Behold the work of Marcus,_ she thought, and confusion reigned.

"My Lady," Treva said from behind her – in Magyar this time, which jolted her back to the present.

She paused in her stride and turned to see Treva approaching, holding a crossbow. "Thank you," she said, taking it. She continued on, turning over the encounter in her mind and feeling a kind of relief that Treva had elected to keep the lines of communication open. _She'll stay with me, even though I'm not the person she grew up with._ The crossbow settled her mind and she was grateful that Treva had presented one to her.

Treva shadowed her as she stepped up and into Víg's quarters and took an immediate left into his library. Within she found several warriors – Florian, Selene, Orbán, Henrik, and Kou – seated around the conference table as well as Lord Víg, who stood pensively behind Henrik and Orbán. Maps and building plans covered the table where once she and Víg had covered it with their bodies and the covenant books. Selene, Kou, and Florian gathered in a knot while Henrik and Orbán conferred at another corner of the table.

"Ah, so good of you to join us, Léna," Víg said casually. Then the confident set of his face melted into mild alarm as he noted what she wielded. His request that she and the rest of the Brazilians leave the premises had been forgotten for the moment. She knew he wouldn't repeat it in the company before them. Orbán's expression masked a new enmity born from the events of the prior morning. From Treva's own hard eyes, she knew the feeling was mutual.

Léna responded by looking at him pointedly and then tossing the crossbow on the table with a sharp clatter, amidst the maps, wrinkling some. "I have come only to learn what your plan is for the defense of the coven," she said and commenced pacing around the circle of seated vampires.

Víg paced her as she walked, except on the opposite side, keeping the map laden table between them. "We have all the preparations in hand, Lady Léna, so there is no need for concern or for resorting to using this," he said, indicating the table, "ancient weapon."

"We believe that an attack on this castle by lycans is not imminent," Florian said next. "We have, however, increased the watchers by twice their normal compliment on the ramparts and the grounds, as well as in the immediate neighborhood. If they attempt to strike us, we'll know about it."

In days of old, Florian led the death dealers at Castle Dömötör, including her own father, and she trusted him utterly. She addressed him next. "Can you defend the coven with so few warriors?"

"It will not be easy," Florian said, "but we still plan to defeat whatever force the lycans may set upon this castle."

"Will you arm the mortals? They will appreciate the gesture and will fight."

The suggestion drew a stern look from Víg. "That is out of the question," he said.

"The mortals of this castle have just as much at stake as we. I armed the mortals of Castle Dömötör before it's sacking..."

"See how much good it did you?"

" _...And_ the mortals provide security for our concerns in Brazil. We have not once had an incidence of rebellion."

After some moments of steepling his fingers, Florian rocked forward in his chair. "I think her idea is worth considering. The mortals are still vastly outnumbered in this castle."

"They'll be chewed to pieces if the lycans strike," Selene said. "Or worse, turned," she said, turning toward Léna.

"This castle is every bit as much their home as ours. If you have not mistreated your mortals – and I've seen no evidence to suggest this – then you should have no problem," Léna said. "I suspect they will appreciate the trust that we put in them and the concern that we have for their welfare. Perhaps they will serve us better as a consequence."

"We will consider your proposal," Víg said formally and glanced at Florian.

"Thank you," Léna said and leaned forward to retrieve the crossbow. "Come, Treva," she added as she left the library. She pronounced the plans satisfactory and trusted that Florian would defend the castle as best as he was able – and he _was_ quite capable. She reached the wide stairwell that led downward to the plaza and after a moment's consideration, decided to take it and go to the basement. "Do you have more bolts than just the one?" she asked.

"There is a small supply downstairs," Treva said.

"You need not accompany me," Léna said.

"Yes I do. You are no longer safe in this castle in my opinion."

She descended into her thoughts as she walked and Treva brought up the rear. The lycans, in both her mother's and Marcus' opinion, were a nuisance. They were more threatening in Viktor's memory, both personally and to the coven. Marcus and her mother held other pursuits higher in priority than a centuries-old grudge. Had they become safer because of Viktor's war?

She reached the cramped, but near-empty range and set up at the far end of the line. She put the handful of bolts on the table before her and did a double-take at the target. Somebody had tacked a portrait of Lord Marcus on a suspended piece of plywood. She cocked the bow, loaded a bolt, took aim one-handed, fired – and hit the wood outside of the target. As she continued to shoot, her aim gradually improved, but it was not nearly what she thought it should be. _What I need is a cesta and a pelota._ Her body failed the Elders' expectations, frustrating her.

As she yanked bolts out of the painting, a gunshot rang out and a casing whizzed by her from a small group of vampires testing gear nearby. They gave her apologetic looks. Selene strode in, fired off a couple rounds and then returned to a small huddle of vampires. The vinyl uniform and Corset of Amelia had returned. The armory began to empty as the teams set off for Huszár or duty stations within the castle. Selene remained to ransack the armory, but then approached and stood in Léna's peripheral vision. "My body remembers better aim," she said and turned toward the death dealer. Treva remained in the rear, observant.

"I suggest you find cover," Selene said. "If what I've heard is true, then you should be protected."

She faced the target and took aim. "That is out of the question," she said flatly and pulled the trigger.

"Besides, you are not a fighter."

"A queen bee, perhaps, and only suitable for procreating? I have fought far more battles than you in my memory." And then, as she said it, she realized that she'd said something similar in a days of old voice: _I am, and we are, more than queen bees and warriors._ Her mother's divergent path began at that point.

"What does your memory tell you about our situation?"

"It's the status quo, except you are not hunting down lycans."

"How do we arrive at the point where your mother's vision is realized?"

"She compromised and looked east – as I may also in response to Lord Víg's invitation. She knew that Viktor could not be convinced. Did you know, Selene, that Lord Kraven also drank of your family?"

"You... Viktor is still responsible for the policy. Don't try to dilute it. The coven's behavior is Viktor's behavior."

"And how much are you, Selene, responsible for Viktor's behavior?"

"I simply will have to live with what I've done. I am no longer a soldier of Viktor."

"As I must live with what my memories say that I have done. And resolve that settling conflict through violence isn't always the answer. We do not grow, but die instead." She cocked the crossbow with a jerk. "However, my mother is but one ancient voice against two others."

Selene took a quick, deep breath and drew her machine pistol out of her right thigh. "I think we've found something that we can agree on. Unless you're flat-out lying to me, I'd say that you're on the road to rehabilitation." Then she turned and fired two bursts at Marcus' visage at the end of the line, causing Léna to jump. "We still need to clean up Viktor's mess," she added, holstered her gun and then turned to leave.

"Where is your duty station, Selene?" Léna said at her back.

Selene stopped and turned her head a quarter-turn. "I'm defending this castle. It's my home, such as it is."

"Are you a death dealer of the coven still? Will you lay your life down if need be?"

"Before I fell in love with Michael, that was an easy question to answer."

"Oh the corruption of it," said Léna.

"And of betrayal." Selene's eyes, which had been cast downward or had gazed at the damaged face of Marcus, found hers.

"Yes, betrayal," Léna said and considered the target. _There is so much of it._

"I can't defend you to the death."

Léna turned abruptly back. "I don't recall asking you to." Treva reminded them both of their presence by cocking her own pistol. Léna nodded her head sideways in Treva's direction. "She'll die for an idea."

"An idea worth dying for."

"For identifying Lord Víg as the keeper of Lord Kraven's memory, I thank you. He has betrayed me for asking for your forgiveness. I hope you will reconsider."

  
\--0--  
  
  
After her encounter with Selene's cold shoulder on the firing range, Lord Víg's arms beckoned. Selene disappointed her and so a vision of the future which her mother espoused would wait until conditions improved. She'd been patient for centuries and Léna supposed she could continue the patience. In the meantime, another kind of consummation was in order.

It was no wonder Víg had rebelled. He'd just seen her bow to Selene and had been understandably enraged. Then she had accused him of favoring Selene over her. That point had been based on hearsay, really – though it had come from Víg's own lips as he'd known Kraven's weaknesses all too well. As she shrugged on her ruby red silk dress, she contemplated the options before her. Taking the castle by force was out of the question, though her memory wanted it to be hers, again. Leaving had been her mother's choice in days of old and she would not split from her brethren as her mother had done while reconciliation with the lycans remained unfulfilled. But how could she reconcile with the lycans if she couldn't reason with her own brethren?

All avenues led to Víg and if he would have her again, then her goals would come back into attainable view once again. She knew what compromises her mother had refused to make in days of old. Perhaps the answer was within all along as Kou had said. She'd been, after all, within her mother's body when she'd last gone to sleep and then when she'd set sail. The Council vote to create the coven in the Americas had come in her last days in her prior reign. There were other ways to take a castle. _My body, my castle, my coven,_ they whispered to her from days of old.

She wrapped her shoulders in black silk and swept out. As she approached, Treva gazed back at her from her station apprehensively. Léna quieted her with a look and walked on. After she passed, she heard Treva shadowing her.

"You need not follow. I'll be fine," she said.

Treva looked up at the ceiling. "Then I'll be right here if you need me," she said, and rested her hand on her holster for emphasis.

One door to Víg's suite stood open; she'd barely placed one shoe in when Orbán appeared out of a shadow and challenged her. "What is it you want?"

 _Soldiers!_ she thought in exasperation. "I missed breakfast," she said simply.

"Let her in," Víg said from within. Orbán stepped aside, but kept his eyes on her. She proceeded into the library and came upon nude buttocks – a woman's – standing behind a chair. The woman's head turned and in the same instant she recognized Frida, she caught sight of the top of Víg's head. Frida looked up at Léna with an expression of utter fright, but seemed frozen to the spot – with hands kneading Víg's shoulders. She gently eased her hands into the place of Frida's. The nude mortal then quickly walked to a chair against a wall and gathered her clothes.

"Viktor would not approve," Léna said into his hair.

Víg rumbled a chuckle underneath her. "How about Léna?" His head lolled as she applied stronger pressure than Frida could.

"Memories can be so burdensome," she whispered. "They get in the way of things – of progress." Then her fingertips trailed his arm as she walked around his chair to lean against the table, facing him. Then the red silk slid away as she raised one thigh to perch on it.

He pushed away from the table and rested his chin in his hand while his forearm propped on the arm rest. "The fact that I have the memories of Lord Kraven doesn't make me Lord Kraven – no more than you are any of the Elders. I think we can still work together to build something good for the coven. Provided," he said with emphasis, "that Xavier is sent back overseas as he directly threatened me."

"If you and I are together, then he has no reason to act impulsively."

"It's the non-impulsive act that concerns me."

"The Kolláristas are concerned about you as a result of our row. They watch Orbán, especially."

"I will speak to Orbán if you will calm your guards," he said, nodding in the direction of the open door.

"I only have the power of suggestion over them, but I will try."

"I suspect you have more power than that, especially where Ádám and Xavier are concerned."

"How is that?"

"From things that I have heard. As I said before, I make the castle's business my business."

She stood then and placed both of her hands on the wooden armrests of his chair. "I have a history with both of them."

"Who's history?"

An abrupt laugh escaped her in spite of herself and she quickly quieted it. She leaned down to his eye level, necklace dangling, and raked her canines over his lower lip. Between breaths, she said, "Only mine. It's just you and I here, together."

"I see that you are no longer angry with me."

She stopped, locked eyes with him, and whispered toward his ear, "That's because I know that I have the thing that Selene won't give you." She glanced to her left, where she could see through the study door where Orbán continued to stand sentry by the half open door of Víg's suite. If Orbán saw all this, she didn't mind. She placed a hand on his knee and guided it as he uncrossed his legs. The chair creaked as she first placed one and then the other heeled foot on the chair pad astride his thighs. His hands went reflexively to her bare legs. She cradled his head and ran her fingernails through his hair. Into his ear, just above a whisper, she said, "My mother knew you desired her."

"Indeed?" he muttered.

At the edge of her consciousness, she heard a series of muffled thumps, the likes of which she hadn't heard before in the castle. Simultaneously, Orbán pulled a walkie talkie from his belt and began speaking into it. She covered Víg's ears with her palms and dug her fingernails into the scalp around them. She concentrated on keeping his mouth occupied. Below her, he'd helpfully unbuckled his belt and adjusted his trousers to free himself. She obliged by sliding silk aside and opening herself to him.

The phone rang as they climaxed and he made an effort to try to answer it. "No," she whispered through deep breaths as her mind struggled to clear through the electric storm of pleasure. She glanced left to Orbán's station and noticed that he had vacated it. They were alone, now.

Víg's panting began to ebb and he wrapped his arms around her back. She tilted her head to the right and began probing his rapidly pulsing neck with her lips. Using Kraven's old bite marks to guide her, she opened her mouth wide and filled her mouth with as much of his neck as she could. Then she bit down – hard. _Bow to me, Kornél._

Víg struggled for what seemed like an eternity, and then fell silent. She had his liquid on her and inside her; she pushed the flesh out of her mouth with her tongue and watched it flop back onto his neck. Blood cascaded out of the wound and pooled on the floor behind the chair. She detached from him and shook the blood from her forearm. Blood smeared on the inside of one of her thighs. She stood and staggered to the bathroom further into his suite, checked herself in the mirror, and then set about rinsing the crimson from her right arm and jaw. Her dress was stained, as well, but the red would mask it. She left the bathroom, still wet, and yanked the bedspread off the bed. She returned to the study where the phone rang insistently once again. She threw the spread over Víg and answered the phone.

"Is Víg available?" Florian asked.

"No, indisposed," Léna said.

"Tell him that we've just had an alarm trip in the perimeter. We're checking it out."

"What was that noise?"

"The castle's shutters – we're taking precautions. Got to run. We're getting more reports." Then he unceremoniously hung up.

She went to the entry way and looked down the corridor. She saw no sign of Treva, but heard plenty of activity below. She took the opportunity to return to her own suite to put herself back into order.


	14. Lycans of the Mind

_My duty station..._ It wasn't personal any longer – her duty had become a profession instead. _Just following orders._ She wielded her weapons to defend the coven. She was no longer dead, but alive. Vengeance had freed her from its grip – or had it? Couldn't the deaths of Ophelia, Halldór, Kahn, and the rest not only be grounds for vengeance, but for war? And had they also been deluded by Viktor, somehow, just as she had? They'd been pulled into a war that they had nothing to do with starting and they had done their duty. It was a skill that she'd never had to master.

Thoughts of Michael distracted her as much as they did last full moon. Then it suddenly all came together: she still wanted time to explore her new life and love and so she wouldn't plunge headlong (at least consciously, anyway) into death's path. Defense of the castle was still a key goal – for so long as the castle sheltered her then, yes, she could enjoy the finer things in life.

Selene's conversation with Michael occupied one of three phone lines leading from the security command center, adjacent to the armory and not far from the sparring room, 2 ½ levels below the plaza of Castle Víg. She paced in an out of the way corner of the cluster of control panels, intercoms, and a bank of monitors that Florian gazed at to pass the time between team check-ins. Henrik sat at a control panel, chatting with teams around the castle. At the moment, he carried on a dialogue with Orbán, who roamed with a team outside of the east wall, where the perimeter alarm had tripped 20 minutes earlier. Spotlights lit up the area like day. Florian had ordered the front gate locked and bolted and the sun shutters of the castle closed. It could be nothing, but it didn't hurt to drill.

"Do you need my help?" Michael asked earnestly. "I can get off work."

"No," she said after a moment. "We're just on alert. It's probably nothing."

"How will I get in touch with you? What if things get worse? How will I know?"

She turned around to see if Florian or Henrik eavesdropped. Satisfied that they were paying attention to more important matters, she continued. "Just try me on my mobile. If that doesn't work, then... just leave a message. It might mean I'm too far inside the castle."

"Ok," he said softly.

"All right."

"Be safe, then."

"I will. Bye."

She cut the connection and adjusted her headset. As she turned, she caught the tail end of an instruction from Florian.

"Kou, send some of your soldiers over to back up Orbán inside the wall," he said.

"Sorry," she said. "Anything new?"

Florian turned at the waist and met her gaze. His sword, sheathed there, swung in a momentary arc. Two machine guns lay stacked in front of a monitor behind him, ready to be hoisted if need be. "Sorry for what?" Florian said with exaggerated shock. "I told Asenath to take cover quite some time ago."

Then the whole room gently shook. The shockwave rattled the guns on the bare wood of the desk and shook particles of dust loose from the ceiling. Florian looked upward in annoyance and then at the monitors. Her reflexes took over and she bolted into motion.

 _"What the hell was that?"_ she heard Florian bark into her earpiece to nobody in particular as she sprinted for the nearest stair – south side front – with her H &K 50 hanging from its strap and banging her hip.

What, indeed. Without thinking, she plunged into a situation that might mean a struggle to the death – and yet, her mind refused to focus fully on it. Inexplicably, she thought of Michael and wondered if he, too, might become a target again.

Machine gun fire popped somewhere above. Somebody's microphone responded and transmitted the gunfire noise more loudly into her ear. She recognized the voice as Patricia's. _"Something blew a hole in the north wing. We've got lycan sightings on the wall."_

 _"Where on the wall?"_ Florian said.

_"North wing facing west – noble residences."_

Florian's voice came again, this time booming throughout the castle on the intercom. _"This is a message from security. The castle is under attack by lycans. Seek shelter immediately! All defenders report to duty stations!"_

She gave a moment's consideration to a single thought: _There won't be much cover left if the lycans intend to demolish the castle._

 _"Lycans have breached the north wing wall and are coming in,"_ said Patricia, between heavy breaths, from somewhere on the wall.

"How many, Pattice?" Selene said as she reached the plaza level and crossed it in two seconds of flash speed, blowing past retreating, ragged nobles who made haste in the other direction.

She began her ascent of the northern wing stair and soon became enveloped by the unmistakable odor of explosives used in anger. A grenade, it almost seemed to her. And then shouts and a new smell greeted her as she rounded the first landing – burning vampire flesh – impossible at this time of night. She unlatched the safety of her H&K.

  
\--0--  
  
  
In the shower, Léna washed the gore from her body, but her regrets had dissolved long ago. Her plan had been possibly jeopardized by something that she'd always feared in her subconscious: the invasion of marauding lycans. Escape would have to wait until the shutters reopened. She had just stepped out of the shower when the floor abruptly moved sideways, nearly toppling both her and Claire. She hurriedly toweled off and snatched the turtleneck and black dress pants from Claire as she presented them. "Boots!" Léna snapped at Claire, sending her scurrying. She stepped to the intercom on the nightstand near the bath door and punched security.

 _"Yes, My Lady?"_ Henrik answered.

"Where's Florian?"

_"Busy. Are you proceeding to shelter?"_

"I'm in my state room."

_"Perhaps you should get to the basement."_

"I'm not going to cower in the basement. If we're under attack, I intend to fight."

She cut the connection. She glanced over at Claire, who had brought her boots and a look of utter fright on her face. Léna shoved her feet in, zipped them, and then began hurriedly running her fingers through her hair. Claire produced a comb, but remained frozen to the spot at her station near the vanity.

"You don't have to stay here," Léna said to her.

"At least let me comb your hair?"

"I can do it. You should take cover in case there's a battle. We should assume the worst." _Lycans._

Machine gun fire exploded, somewhere nearby, within the castle, to punctuate her point. They both jumped. Claire looked as if she didn't know what to do, so Léna put out her hand. Claire furtively put the comb in it and then disappeared into the state room. Léna idly played with the bristles of the comb. _Lycans – it had to be._ Léna suddenly realized that she was not ready for the lycans to be outside of her mind. For all of her found experience, she was not prepared for the real thing. In her deep memory, she had fought and slain them, but she now had the limitations of her body to contend with.

Florian then made his presence known through the intercom system, confirming that the castle was under attack. And now, history repeated itself – but not quite. She had no horse, no whip, and no armor. Would the castle hold? With Florian at the helm, possibly. And though her mind screamed otherwise, she knew she had to join the battle.

Another burst of gunfire startled her. It was the guns – lycans now had modern, automatic weapons. This was something new to her ancient memory.

 _Shelter? Really?_ she thought. Remembered anger, combined with real-time adrenaline, simmered within her. All the Elders' memories agreed: she would defend the castle, even unto death. Viktor would see to it that there would be no retreat and no shelter.

On edge, she went to her bedchamber window, manually released the shutter, and peered out her west-facing view. The full moon shone prominently down on the castle, casting shadows across the inside of the perimeter. Machine gun crackles and shouts resounded within the perimeter wall from the direction of the north. Then, in the moonlight, she saw a figure, probably a death dealer, running along the top of the west perimeter wall and then out of view to her right. _Where is everybody?_ she wondered. But then she suddenly remembered the coven's late depopulation.

Close-proximity machine gun fire grew more insistent. She went to the living area of the state room, seized the crossbow, and loaded it. She descended the steps to the corridor outside of her state room and saw Treva posted at the midpoint, at the junction of two stairwells and the corridor leading to Lord Víg's residence beyond. She held a machine gun and carried her atlatl strapped to her back.

"Where the hell is everybody?" she demanded to her singular guard.

"You need to be somewhere safe!" Treva barked back at her, making no effort at concealing her raw anger.

"Well, you're just going to have to carry me there!" Léna hissed, with her upper lip curled back to reveal canines. "You're going to deny me the honor of defending my own home?" she nearly shouted, straining to be heard above the near-constant popping from the hostilities on the floors below.

Then the machine gun fire abruptly ceased, drawing Treva's attention back to the stairwell that served as the only avenue into and out of their level.

  
\--0--  
  
  
Retreating vampires physically blocked Selene's progress. Above, growls, shouts, and hisses mixed with staccato machine gun pops and another, curious sound: a penetrating, pulsing hum. Two vampires hove into view in front of her on the steps, arms outstretched with flesh melted away from hands. A soldier, unrecognizable because his face had been burned off, pushed behind them, down toward Selene. The onslaught of her brethren forced her down the steps several paces. "What in hell is going on up there?" she barked.

The burned vampire nearest to her groaned in agony. She thought to check her watch, but then felt certain that it wasn't daybreak yet. The electronic hum sounded nearer and the tortured howling of other vampires intensified. She felt a vibration in her teeth and static electricity in her hair. The faceless vampire shouldered past her and suddenly howled afresh. A voice above her said, "Get back, Selene! They've got something that's burning us!" She smelled ozone and noticed sparking at the business end of her H&K. She had only a moment to process the sight of the electricity arcing on and likely ultraviolet radiation emanating from, her weapon. Then bullets began hailing down the stairwell from the mess above.

She turned then, contrary to her nature, and retreated down the steps and back into the plaza. Vampires, five more of them, spilled out of the stairwell and headed to the right into the dining hall or into the smaller front stair which led to the lower levels.

She took cover in the grand stair some 15 meters away and pressed the button of her walkie-talkie. "Florian, the lycans have brought some UV generator that's frying us. Keep our warriors away until I figure this out."

 _"Negative. We're death dealers,"_ he barked.

 _Shit._ A vampire shouted at her from the entrance to the dining hall. "There are two of those machines." Then, in her peripheral vision, she saw the thing that was likely burning up the vampire warriors. A transformed lycan lurched onto the plaza from the bloody stairwell sporting a contraption strapped to its back. It looked like an oversized backpack with a rod protruding from the top. The rod emitted bolts of electricity in random directions, connecting with anything metal, hissing, buzzing, and popping all the while. Her hair filled with static once again and a bolt abruptly lanced through the air and connected with her H &K. A burst of bullets followed, chipping stone from the corner of the stairwell where she took cover.

Near the entrance stair, she spotted Márton and a squad of Víg's defenders as they stepped into the open and began blasting the invaders with their own machine guns. Almost immediately, they began to writhe in agony. As the lycans turned their attention to Márton's crew, she stepped from behind cover and directed fire at the nearest lycan's head. In her peripheral view, Márton stood his ground, even advanced across the plaza, while UV radiation burned through his hands. He fired until he could fire no more and then simply collapsed, silently, save for the staccato pops of weapons fire. The lycan that she had shot at had gone down, but she suspected he would get back up before too long.

She took cover again. _That we are,_ she thought. _And now we are probably one less warrior._

The lycans, two transformed and three not, made their way to the middle of the plaza, shooting at anything that moved. One or more of them pinned her down while they progressed forward and sought a better angle. Across the plaza, she continued to see vampires valiantly attempting to fend off the knot of lycans. They approached from the main, front light lock, just as Márton's team had, or via the stairwells, but were immediately repelled by the UV emanating from the lycan with the static machine.

Before she could come into range of the machine gun-toting lycans and likely becoming disabled by who knows what, she backed quickly and quietly up the grand stair, past the first landing and then turned around and ascended to the second. As she reached it, she peered out of an open window that provided an elevated view of the plaza. The group of lycans proceeded south across the plaza – not surprisingly, the plaza was otherwise empty of live vampires. Four, including Márton, lay apparently dead. The one lycan that she'd shot was mobile, but moved more slowly than the others. Behind and above her, she sensed the approach of more chaos from the rent wall to the north. The second squad of lycans would be within range of the grand stair – from above her – in minutes or perhaps seconds if they were in a hurry.

Machine gun reports echoed down toward her from the story above. Vampires spat, hissed, and howled as the device's energy waves seared into their flesh. A vague, though distinctive, smell of burning vampire flesh continued to permeate the air, reminding her of their pain and suffering at the lycans' hands. The red carpet on the landing – and on the steps leading up and down – bore stains from wounded and bleeding vampires, presumably, that had fled from stories above only a few moments before she occupied the space.

She waited until the lycans had progressed more than two-thirds of the way across the plaza – on the way, she presumed, to wreak havoc on the south stair as they had on the north. She stood, moved to the right side of the window, and pointed the nose of her H&K downward at them. She fired a lethal burst at the rear-most, gun-carrying lycan and then began to train fire at the back of the lycan who wore the UV-generating contraption. She hit the floor when the two other gun-carrying lycans turned their weapons in her general direction and returned fire.

She waited until the fire ceased and then peered back out again. The four remaining lycans resumed their progress across the plaza with the machine still fully-functional. She straightened her microphone. "Florian, the lycans who cleared the north stair are heading toward the south, I believe, via the main plaza."

_"What's your location?"_

"Grand stair, second landing."

 _"We've got nobles in the south wing, yet, Lord,"_ crackled Lipót through her earpiece.

 _"How many warriors do you have?"_ said Florian.

_"Five."_

_"And where are you?"_

_"We're in suites. Can't go into the corridor,"_ said Lipót.

 _"Those are Tesla coils, Selene,"_ Florian said into her ear.

She switched to German, easily understandable by her Austrian commander but possibly confusing to a lycan who might hear her. "We've got to stop them. They're eventually going to come your way."

_"The battery packs will run out eventually."_

The pack of lycans in the corridor of the floor above her approached quickly and would soon be at the grand stair. She didn't have much time. She let the H&K drop to her side as she crouched in a corner. "Not before daybreak, I'd wager. I've got an idea. Kill the lights in the castle. It might give us an advantage."

_"What?"_

"Don't give me an argument! I have a plan – just do it."

 _"Done,"_ Florian said... and then the lights went out. Emergency lights then flickered on, one located on each of the landings of the grand stair. The horrendous buzzing racket paused in its progress above. She pulled a Bowie knife from her boot and killed the emergency light nearest her with two stout slashes at the necks connecting the lamps to the power pack. Then she slipped off her boots and listened while the pace of the lycans slackened. "Lipót, I'm going to create a diversion. When you see it, I want you to jump those nobles off the southern corridor balcony – into the courtyard below. If you move quickly, then you won't be burned too badly. Cover them as best you can."

_"What's your plan?"_

"To prevent a fucking massacre. This will increase their chances. Just don't shoot me, alright?" With that, she turned off her walkie-talkie, re-drew her knife, palmed a Walther in her left hand, and tiptoed quickly and silently to the third landing where the electrical hum of the Tesla coil and the breathing and shuffling of the moon-loving beasts sounded more loudly. There, she found the shredded body of a mortal slumped in the entry to the stair, bathed in the emergency lighting. She stepped over the body and leapt to the control box over the doorway. She hung on and, using the sound of distant machine gun fire as cover, swatted off the light posts with her knife. As she dropped to the floor, she noticed movement above her and to the right in the wall just above her head. In the nearly non-existent light, she saw the unmistakable outline of a small trap door – about ¾ of a meter square – shut and seal. It resembled a utility access, but it clearly served another purpose.

She peeked out of the entry to the stairwell, into the carpeted expanse of the northern portion of the corridor. The lycan who supported the Tesla coil stood in the corridor amongst several vampire bodies draped in finery – _nobles,_ Selene noted. The emanations from the coil continued to burn the bodies and the pungent aroma of smoking flesh hung in the air. Un-transformed lycans, at least three, darted in and out of the noble suites like nefarious housekeepers. A shriek of agony and a blast of machine gun fire originating in one of the suites made her eyes, finally, light on fire.

 _Patricia_. She took the opportunity to glide noiselessly across the carpet and into the suite immediately opposite where Patricia's scream emanated from. In transit, she confirmed that the Tesla lycan, as well as another transformed, remained in the hall. Beyond, a ragged gash at the end of the hall opened the castle to the elements. She entered the suite unnoticed and then continued on to a connecting doorway to an adjoining suite with a door wrenched off its hinges. She padded through, turned left, and then proceeded through the bullet-riddled and blood-stained front room. She reached the corridor and flung her knife, end over end, into the guard lycan's head. As it slumped forward into the Tesla lycan, she aimed her Walther at the contraption and pulled the trigger. The reaction was instantaneous: as she fired, a bolt lanced out from the coil and blasted her head over heels out of the hole in the castle and onto a balcony.

She landed in a heap at the stone railing, hit her head, but thankfully didn't lose consciousness. She righted herself and discovered that she'd lost the Walther. She shrugged the H&K into position and knelt behind some rubble from the hole in the castle wall. Peering down the corridor, she noted with satisfaction that the Tesla coil had been disabled. The three surviving human-form lycans shook and swatted it in a vain attempt to get it to work. She lined up her target and commenced firing. At the same time, somebody shot at the lycans from the south. They charged her then and as she kept firing, they all transformed and leapt over her head, grabbed hold of the hole's edge above her, dislodging chunks of masonry, and scrambled upward. At four meters, they scrambled over an edge and out of her line of sight.

She turned on her walkie-talkie and said into it, "The second team's Tesla coil has been disabled. They've left the castle but are heading for the top of the castle." Above her, starshine winked in and out as other lycans landed to join their brethren at the top stories. Vampires on the north wall rained fire on them as they landed and scrambled up the roofing. Her mobile phone chirped and she pulled it out to find that she had a message waiting.

_"Selene, Michael. I'm just checking in to see how things are... But... since you're not answering I'm... I think I'm going to come up there to check for myself. Sorry."_

She closed the phone, re-entered the hallway, and jogged toward the grand stair – passing the corpse of Patricia along the way – toward Lipót's team gathered there. _Good. We may win this battle, but hopefully with not too much more bloodshed._

  
\--0--  
  
  
Léna slowly approached her friend's station at the intersection of the grand stair and the corridor leading to the state room. The sickening odor of burning vampire flesh and the muffled sounds of chaos drifted out of the grand stair. She held her crossbow pointed down at her right side as she strolled. "That's quite a job you've got there. Where is everybody, huh?" she cooed.

Treva set her feet and faced her. "Don't you hear what's going on?"

"Yes, I do. And there's no way you're keeping me confined up there. Now: I want to get below so I can defend my castle."

"There's no way you're getting past me." If she could have folded her arms, she would have.

Léna rested her crossbow against the wall near the intersection and then strode toward Treva, who barely had enough time to swing her machine gun around to her back before engaging Léna.

Léna lanced out with punches and kicks while Treva concentrated on pushing them aside. Treva likely knew that she needed to budget her own strikes since her gangly nature made her a better target for locks. All Léna needed to do was throw Treva off-balance and get by her. She could even call upon Marcus' wealth of dirty tricks if the Jiu-jitsu didn't work.

Léna found her opening and took down Treva and proceeded to work on her knee. If she could disable her, then she couldn't follow. "Vampires are dying and we are fighting each other!" Léna said through gritted teeth.

"You're out of your goddamned mind!" Treva's knuckles suddenly connected with the front of her neck, collapsing her airway. She relaxed her grip on Treva and then could do little more than roll over, drawing ragged, ineffectual breaths. "Come on, you'll live," Treva said, and grabbed Léna around the waist to pull her up to standing.

They walked back toward the state room and Treva hauled her up the steps. Her breathing improved, but her mood didn't. Treva let her go on the landing; Léna thanked her by jerking the crossbow out of her hand. She doubled over and coughed as Treva retreated backward down the steps.

 _It's true,_ Léna thought, but she wasn't in a position to do anything about it. The castle and the coven were under attack and she had no choice. _My coven... my body..._ The ancient part of her refused to understand why she wasn't allowed to fight. By all rights she should level the crossbow at Treva's head and put a bolt in it. That's what Viktor would have done. Nobody, but nobody, ever stood in his way and lived.

What would her mother have done? Retreat? She walked, half-consciously, to the neglected fireplace and sat in the metal-framed seat nearby. Looking up, a window was directly in her field of view. She could break it out and likely dislodge one or more of the iron bars... but, that would make it a lycan highway.

She rose and headed for her bedchamber, the better to make calls out of Treva's earshot. Entering, she found Claire curled into a ball in her sewing seat, shaking and startling with each burst of machine gun fire rattling in the floors below them and popping in the night outside the window. Despite the battle raging underneath their feet, she'd still had the presence of mind to light a handful of candles around the room. Léna reached the intercom on her nightstand. "I can take the pain away, Claire," she said with finger poised above the button.

"How so?"

"I turn you... or at least try. Either way... Perhaps you can become more useful."

Claire simply looked back at her in incredulity and then tightened herself into a more compact ball.

"My phone then, Claire." Léna nodded out the door to the living area. "It's on the desk."

Slowly she unwrapped herself to her full height and walked out purposefully.

Léna called Florian again.

 _"Yes?"_ he said. _"Are you safe?"_

"Yes, but I'm being held prisoner..." Then the line abruptly went dead.

Claire returned with the phone. She'd no sooner entered two numbers when Treva appeared in the doorway, consternation apparent. She approached Léna in three strides, stopped, and held out her hand.

Léna held the phone against her chest, daring her old friend to try and take it from her.

Instead, Treva's eyes went out of focus and then she cupped her hand to her ear in the sudden, eerie quiet. After a moment, she turned to exit. "Lycans are on the roof," she muttered on the way out. Léna tossed the phone on the bed and gave chase. She arrived on the outside landing of her suite to behold a determined stream of vampire warriors, some eight or so in number, erupt out of the stairs onto their level. Selene led the platoon, which included several other warriors as well as at least two nobles who had picked up guns. Lipót opened a door in the wall opposite the stairwell and the death dealers that had gathered at the ready plunged into another stairwell that led further upward. They headed for the top floor of the castle keep that contained Lord Marcus' residence, heading for, Léna presumed, a point where lycans might have blasted a new hole through the roof.

Léna descended the steps in a move to join them, but Treva blocked her bodily, seized her by the arm, and dragged her back upward toward her state room steps. Outside, in the distance, the unseen, muffled, staccato bursts of automatic weapons fire began anew. An explosion boomed above them.

Treva barked out a status report as she hauled Léna into the antechamber of the state room, in a futile attempt to impress upon her the gravity of the situation. "We've got reinforcements on the battlements and the wall, but they're probably jumping over. Florian and Selene are..." Treva was cut off by a loud, though muffled, thump above them that shook the room.

Léna shoved herself free.

"We should've left this country when he had the chance!" Treva groused. Above them, machine guns fired in random bursts. Treva went into a crouch at the entry of the state room.

Léna took up a station on the floor near her desk, two paces behind Treva's right shoulder and pulled up her knees. She propped her crossbow on them and kept the open doorway in view. A loud thump, followed by a series of softer blows resounded this time outside of the shuttered windows.

Treva turned her head warily in the direction of the sound. "God, they're everywhere," she muttered, barely audible above the racket.

Léna glanced in the same direction and then met Treva's gaze. Gone were the thoughts of escape and contempt for her jailor, she suddenly realized. The battle had now raged all around them and protecting her friend became more paramount. Maternal instincts, of a sort, now guided her actions.

Léna stood and crossed the room to the manual release on the window shutter and pulled it. The shutter detached from its motor and drifted free, letting moonlight and floodlight spill into the room at sharp angles. She reversed the crossbow and broke out some panes with the stock, letting the chilly night air drift into the room as well. She reloaded the bolt. Two more loud thumps sounded on the walls outside. She took a step back from the window. The racket above intensified and waned as the battle moved about the floor-sized residence above. A deafening pop sounded somewhere outside, briefly illuminating the entire state room living area.

A scraping noise attracted Léna's attention and she turned to face the window again. A wolfen face with white on white eyes looked in at her. Abruptly it bared its teeth and roared. Léna hissed back at it and the face disappeared, surprising her. The quiet but determined thumping on the roof outside of her window continued along with the ever-present machine gun fire on the floor above. She scanned the ceiling warily while keeping both the shattered window and Treva in her peripheral vision. _I've just been made,_ she thought.

The room illuminated again as if from a nearby lightning strike. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a figure standing near the aquarium. Afterward, in the dim light, Léna strained to see what she had caught a glimpse of.

"My Lady," a voice said – Frida's. "This way."

Léna looked up at Treva, who knelt with one knee down and trained her machine gun out of the state room doors and down. She fired bursts at an enemy out of Léna's line of sight. "Treva!" she barked. She turned toward Frida, who beckoned from an open side panel in the bookcase.

"Get out!" Treva barked in Portuguese. She waved her arm in the general direction of the passage as if to will Léna into movement. Then Treva lost her balance sideways and Léna realized that she'd been hit.

"Treva!" she said once again. A loud, though muffled pop sounded in the ceiling. A crack appeared near the entrance to the bedchamber and dust filtered into the room. A stronger arm, Claire's, circled hers and guided her to the secret passage that she and Frida had apparently been using since her arrival. A second, louder pop threw flame, masonry, and wood splinters into the room from above. The blast wave knocked her hard into the side of the bookcase, dazing her. Arms dragged her into the dark, secret passage and she knew nothing but dizziness, pain, darkness, and the labored panting of her mortal servants.

  
\--0--  
  
  
If these lycans had come prepared for encountering Michael, they didn't show it. He'd turned up of a sudden, descending the grand stair in grand, green-fanged fashion, not long after the bulk of the vampires had returned there to battle a fourth wave of lycans, fortunately bearing only conventional weapons and the fangs and claws that Corvinus bestowed them with. He gave them a good workout, chasing them around the main floor plaza at lightning speed, like a cat chasing another. They'd discovered moments earlier that he was nothing to be trifled with and so tried their utmost to put distance between themselves and him. _Maybe he'll scare the shit out of them and they'll leave._ If they didn't, they would regret venturing into the abode of their enemy. They were still deadly, wild animals, though, and Selene kept them in her gun sights. Some vampires had already died from glancing blows from these particular rampaging lycans' teeth.

The lycans growled and shrieked as they ran circuits around the room in a vain attempt to avoid Michael. One lycan took a chance and reversed course. Michael tackled it and it then became a writhing, violent contest between Michael's bite killing it and Michael surviving the lacerations that the lycan's jaws and nails inflicted.

The remaining two lycans, sensing that Michael was preoccupied, moved on Selene and Orbán. They'd both been harassing the scampering lycans with bullets as they tried to elude Michael. Selene fired bursts from both of her Walthers into the one nearest, but it bowled into her, snarling, wounded, and insane. As they rolled, the mindless animal scored her with its claws, but she held it at its neck to keep its jaws away from her. She cried out from the slashing but a paw soon came into range. She struck and held fast with her own jaws until the lycan ceased struggling and slicing her to ribbons. She and the lycan dropped to the floor. She rolled away from the sick and spasming lycan and spat out fur. Though she'd mortally wounded it, Selene saw fit to pull a sword from Márton's corpse nearby and decapitate it to speed the process. She got up to her knees and looked over at Orbán, who had drawn his own sword and dispatched his lycan.

Selene's arms and midsection throbbed from the wounds; blood ran down her hand and onto the grip and blade. She slowly stood to survey the bloody plaza – and she shuddered at what she saw. In dead embrace on the plaza floor lay about ten vampire bodies and slightly more lycans. Many of the vampires wore vestigial expressions of agony – dying of UV exposure from the Tesla coils or lycan saliva contamination in their bloodstream. The lycan bodies, both wolf form and hairlessly nude, were riddled with bullets or bore tearing or hacking wounds. She wasn't happy to discover, amongst Márton and other assorted dead vampires, death dealers and nobles she knew by name.

Distant gunfire sounded overhead again, catching the attention of all. Somebody spoke in Orbán's earpiece. He put his hand on it. "Right, I'm coming," he said into his microphone. "I'm going upstairs to corral a lycan," he said then to Selene and the remaining vampires on the plaza. He turned and made for the grand stair at a run; two other vampires followed.

Florian and Henrik appeared at Selene's shoulder a few moments later with healing, charred flesh.

"I hope you gave as good as you got," Selene said to him.

He took a deep breath. "One word: minigun." Machine gun fire rumbled again far above him. "Orbán, what's the status?" he said into his walkie-talkie.

 _"We could use some help up here,"_ Orbán said in response.

A crowd of vampires appeared and walked briskly toward them from the direction of the main light lock, led by Haruye. They crossed through the obstacle course of bodies littering the plaza floor with weapons drawn and concerned countenances.

"Reinforcements have just arrived," Florian said as Selene and Michael left him for the grand stair.

Selene heard Haruye's report to Florian through the open channel as they ascended. _"Huszár Mansion is burned to the ground. We rescued two, but the rest all dead. Xavier disappeared."_

 _"Disappeared?"_ asked Florian.

 _"There was no shot. He disappeared during rescue and some fighting. He just was not there when we left to come back here,"_ she continued.

 _"Where are we going? Where's Léna?"_ demanded Ádám. Selene noted that he sounded, for the first time, weary.

"She's upstairs with Treva. You've arrived just in time," said Selene into her microphone. Then she realized that nobody else had reported seeing either one of them since the battle started, so preoccupied they were with fending off the attackers. Léna certainly wasn't her priority.

Haruye, Ádám, and four others joined her and Michael as they charged upward through the grand stairwell, taking the steps two and three at a time. They had nearly reached the fourth level when they heard the unmistakable sound of Treva shouting.

"That was Portuguese," Ádám barked near her.

"Michael, Haruye, check Víg's apartment," Selene said, stabbing a finger down the opposite end of the corridor.

Down the corridor to Léna's state room they sprinted, as well as they could with bodies laying in their path. They reached the steps to the state room and vaulted into the antechamber. They found Treva and Orbán in the middle of the living area arguing and gesturing at each other with weapons. Blood stained most of the shirt on her torso.

"I know she's here! You've..."

"What did you do with her?"

"I just got here..."

"Orbán, Treva...," Selene managed to get out.

"Knock it off!" Ádám barked at Treva, who did as she was told.

On the floor behind them and in the direction of the hearth a dead lycan lay with a bolt in its head on top of a mortal – Frida, she noted. _What was she doing up here?_ Near the fish tank was another lycan riddled with bullets.

Then the ceiling above the living area groaned and caved in, knocking Orbán and Treva off their feet. As the dust settled, Ádám began kicking at lumber and plaster. "Treva!" he called out. He went to the dead lycans and kicked them over.

Michael and Haruye appeared in the doorway. "Nothing in Lord Víg's apartment," Michael said. He'd changed back into human form – a bellwether that the battle had finally ended.

Treva emerged dazed from a crevasse where she'd taken cover when the ceiling came down.

Ádám helped right her and supported her as she gathered her wits. "Where is Léna?" Ádám demanded.

"I don't know. This lycan attacked," she said, indicating the lycan on top of Frida. "I shot it with Léna's crossbow. I passed out and when I awoke, she and Claire had disappeared. She may be wounded."

"Why didn't you stay with her?" spat Ádám.

"Why didn't _you_?" she shouted back at him.

"Vampires, _please!_ " shouted Selene. "Kristóf, are you there?" she said into her microphone. "Lock down the perimeter as best you can. We think Lady Léna might've been kidnapped."

 _"When?"_ Florian chimed in.

"A few minutes ago," replied Selene after a moment's thought.

"Where's Xavier?" asked Treva.

Ádám looked at her for a long moment and said, "I don't know. We lost him."

"What, is he dead?"

"No. We can't find him. Might have been captured, like Léna."

A hand-sized fish flapped on the floor from the collapsed aquarium. Treva kicked it across the room. "Merda!"

Selene left the Kolláristas and took Haruye and Michael up to Lord Marcus' destroyed apartment. A quiet breeze blew through the room from the gaping hole in the ceiling. Two emergency lights still functioned to quietly illuminate the tale of the havoc that the lycans had wreaked in the apartment, striking like a storm and then leaving the stink of death in their wake. On one side of the main living area the floor had collapsed and they could see the activity below in Léna's residence. Selene stepped to a hole in the outer wall and peered out, scanning the night for a lucky sign of the lycans' retreat with their prize.

"What do we do, now?" asked Michael behind her.

"Wait for the lycans to make demands," said Selene. "Florian, Lord Marcus' apartment is secure, but there is major structural failure from burrowing lycans."

 _"No sign of any lycans,"_ said Kristóf in her earpiece.

 _"It's three hours to dawn. We should plug all the light holes if we can and get people put away,"_ said Florian.

"Let's clear the bodies and put cots in the main plaza – no, the lower levels," said Selene. "Michael and I can assess damage during the day."

The vampires returned to the aerial view of Léna's state room. Selene heard sobbing and traced the sound to a disheveled mortal, Claire. She stood over Frida and covered her mouth as she wept. In a way, Selene pitied her. _Behold, a death dealer is born._ The three of them took the short way down – through the hole in the ceiling. Michael ushered Treva to Léna's bedchamber, mostly untouched by the battle. They put her on the bed and Michael attended to Treva's wounds while Ádám paced.

 _"Lord Víg is dead,"_ said Kou into Selene's earpiece. _"We just found him lying behind the keep with his throat torn out."_


	15. Safe

Dust, smoke, and the smells of combustion and dead lycans filled the air. Only emergency electric lighting and the sympathetic moonlight saved the ruined room from total darkness. Around Selene, vampires idly kicked at rubble and shattered timbers and spoke to each other in hushed tones. Nearby voices ebbed and flowed with occasional bursts of distant electronic voices in conversation. Claire hugged herself and sang quietly.

Selene rubbed her sore right ribcage with a blood-encrusted hand, eliciting stabbing pain as well as an itching sensation from healing flesh. "Kou," she said into her microphone, "how did Víg get down there?"

 _"I don't know, Selene,"_ he responded after a thoughtful pause.

 _Lycans,_ she thought. _Must be just bad luck on his part._ She wasn't happy that his death, however it happened, took place during her watch. "Who was responsible for protecting him?"

_"I don't know. We told everybody to get to the basement, but I guess he and Léna were two of the holdouts."_

"Who was the last person to see him alive?" Selene pressed, walking down the corpse-littered corridor outside of the state room. She walked gingerly, in contrast to the wounded sprinting earlier, amongst the bodies attended to by vampires collecting weapons and ammunition. She made her way eventually down to the main floor grand plaza – and still more bodies, many that she was responsible for.

_"Does it really matter? Lycans got him."_

"He was the head of a noble house and we should have been keeping better tabs on him."

 _"Don't take it pers..."_ squawked Kou.

"It actually _does_ matter," said Orbán, coming upon her abruptly. Henrik and Izidor lurked behind him, eyeing her.

"I'll talk to you later, Kou." Selene closed the connection and returned Orbán's grave stare. "Do you know anything?"

"Enough to have my suspicions," he countered.

"Oh, really?" she said, raising a sarcastic eyebrow.

"Yes, really," he replied acidly. "I believe Lady Léna was the last vampire with him. He was barely clothed when we found him."

"That in and of itself doesn't prove _anything_. Are you accusing her of murder? Why would Léna want him dead?

"I don't know... perhaps to take over, or something – she and her Elders."

"No, you're mistaken," she insisted. "She's left the castle. Treva said so herself."

"She murdered Lord Víg and has fled, possibly with your help."

"Now just wait a moment..." She had no patience for this man, especially after an extended round of hand to paw combat. The only thing that kept her going of late was adrenaline, which lowered her resistance to her eyes lighting on fire.

"Something is going on here. Didn't she bow to you just one night ago? Didn't she?"

Selene realized her head had tilted and she abruptly straightened it. "I think it's time that you put your theories to rest and got busy with something constructive. There are bodies to collect and..."

"I don't take orders from you, Selene... _or_ Florian. This is my castle, now."

" _Your_ castle? The castle belongs to the coven."

"I became Víg's deputy after András died," he declared.

"I think the new council would say otherwise."

"The new council can be damned. Víg is dead and Léna's escaped," he spat, and then stalked off with his two friends.

"If you want to blame somebody, blame me. I handed out the assignments," she called after him.

They kept walking.

"Shit!" Selene hissed as she opened a channel. "Kou, would you take a census of the dead and coordinate disposal of the carcasses?"

 _"Will do,"_ he responded.

"Haruye, take two teams, Michael _included,_ " Selene said into her microphone, "and see if you can find any suspicious vehicles or witnesses. Try to pick up a trail before the sun comes up."

Haruye's groups approached her shortly after on the way out. Michael slowed his gait to give her a look over his shoulder as he walked past with them. His eyes, partially hidden behind the bangs that she adored, widened in concern.

Orbán had challenged her and raised her hackles, but perhaps this battle she could choose to avoid. She went over scenarios in her head and then resolved to speak to Florian about him. Perhaps it was for the best in the end, for the coven's sake, if Léna stayed gone.

  
\--0--  
  
  
The phone chatter died down as dawn approached. The vampires' search teams began their return, empty handed, to their lair in Castle Víg. While the mood amongst them wasn't despairing, all knew that the prospects were growing slim for Léna's survival. Selene clutched a satellite phone while she paced on a battlement of the castle under a lightening eastern sky, daring the lycans to come after her. She wished she could be out in the hunt, but instead she argued with Ádám, who'd gone out with Treva in a third search team. Michael had jumped into their vehicle at the last minute. " _No,_ Ádám. We can't spare the resources."

"But they're both out there somewhere. They wouldn't have taken Xavier prisoner if they didn't want to keep him alive."

"It's more likely that they've extracted all they want from him and he's been executed."

"I'm not going to give up, Selene. I've got no choice."

"Yes, well, it's all fine and easy for you – you don't have any responsibilities other than to her." _And it's not like you didn't have a hand in starting this whole..._

"I'd like to think we're all in this together," he snapped back at her, cutting off her thought.

 _Convenient for you,_ she didn't say. "I'm not being clear. We've got a half-destroyed castle, lots of vampire blood, and the prospect of an imminent follow-up attack. We've got to defend the castle," she barked back.

"You're still thinking like Viktor," he snapped.

Selene hung up on him. She understood Ádám's concern; she simply didn't share it. In an earlier time, she wouldn't have thought twice about emptying a mansion to find a lost vampire. These times were different, though, and their survival was more at risk now than ever. Léna was not a high priority in her mind. She could spare a team or three at night, but she could not participate with the suited up Kolláristas during the day. Though Léna had bowed to her, she still held the memories of Viktor and Marcus. The less of them walking the earth, the better, she resolved. Florian, naturally, would think otherwise.

Her phone beeped. She checked her phone mail, which contained a rude message from Orbán accusing her of not trying hard enough to find Léna and to bring her to justice.

She punched Michael's speed dial to get his take on the search. "Anything?" she asked after he answered.

"Not since the last time we checked in. It's a big country – like trying to find a needle in a haystack. You know, they can't have gotten that far and they can't move him during the day if he's still alive."

"That's another good reason to kill Xavier."

"Ádám and Treva want to keep looking on their own. They have suits."

Selene sighed. "Yes, I heard."

Silence lengthened on his end, which served only to focus her attention. "Selene, I'd like to go with them."

"We could use you at the castle during the day. Why?"

"I want to help them out, that's all."

Then it was Selene's turn to be silent. Then she said, "Look, how long are we going to keep looking for them?"

"I don't know. I think we should try. I think we can make some progress because the lycans won't be expecting us to be looking in the daylight. It's no skin off our backs, right?"

She paused in thought again. "You don't have to ask my permission, Michael."

"You know, it seems kind of crazy, but she and I were both there."

"How is that?"

"...at the death of Sonja. We were both there – in memory – and we both loved her."

"I think I understand," Selene said softly. She didn't completely get his point, but she realized another: Léna couldn't be Viktor and Marcus any more than Michael could be Lucian. Léna could rationalize memories as well as Michael, she supposed. Then she thought of Xavier's comment about Lady Amelia a little over a night ago, before Léna had bowed before her. Perhaps Michael could relate to lost loves. Perhaps she, too, could relate, having found one... and found reasons for doing things based not on hate and vengeance. She would stand for peace... but not yet.

  
\--0--  
  
  
Aside from a familiarity with the county roads in the area, Ádám had decided that he would drive and there would be no argument about it. Treva had slid into the passenger seat almost automatically, as if she'd done so on hundreds of occasions more. Michael had been relegated to the back -- it had seemed proper since he'd grown accustomed to it of late.

The location of the castle was advantageous in that there were few places locally in which to stash a vampire. But, if the lycans had wanted to transport a vampire halfway across Europe, the nighttime was a fine time to do it.

They'd returned to the castle an hour before dawn and Michael cooled his heels in the courtyard while the Brazilians suited up. On a whim, he walked toward and through the main gate, circled around the outside of the wall toward the west, and then found his way around to the north from whence the initial attack had come. Looking up, he could see the ruptured wall where the lycans had injected themselves. He put his back to the wound and walked forward, into the woods.

A call came on his phone – Ádám, he noted. "Yes?"

"We're ready. Where are you?"

"Go ahead without me. I'm canvassing the, ah, north slope."

They cut the connection and he returned to sampling the air. Vampires had trampled through the area earlier and he became fearful that any lycan scent left behind would've been obliterated. He worked in a zig-zag pattern, radiating outward and down-gradient from the exterior wall.

In time he picked up a trail – a lycan had brushed against a cedar in recent history. Whether it was a reconnaissance or a raiding party he didn't know. He followed the trail for what seemed like a mile and then broke out of the woods onto a farm lane adjacent to a meadow. He followed the lane for another 100 yards and then arrived at an even more tantalizing find: an abandoned VW on the side of it, mostly in high grass, where it had turned off a gravel country road.

He glanced up and down the roadway and then non-chalantly shoved his palm through the passenger window. The air inside sighed out, yielding a cornucopia of human, lycan, and, most importantly, vampire smell. He opened the glove box and discovered ownership paperwork – the car had belonged to a mortal, he suspected, but had been stolen by lycans. He noted the owner's address near Vác and then pulled out his mobile to call the castle. He didn't know where he was, and so proceeded north, or perhaps east, along the gravel road. After another half-mile he reached a small town: Nézsa, according to a passer-by.

He would be long gone by the time the mortal that he encountered realized, if he kept track of such things, that he was a wanted man, still.

  
\--0--  
  
  
"My Lady, come with me, please," said the mortal.

Taken completely by surprise, Selene complied. She took a break from assessing the damage to the castle wrought by the lycan onslaught.

Dawn had brought a sobering realization of the damage, both to the castle and to the vampires as a whole. Seventeen vampires had lost their lives to the lycans' nineteen. Many of the dead among their own were nobles who, while possessing formidable physical strength due to age, had no chance against enraged lycans. Through the morning, she had shadowed engineers as they blocked off portions of the castle too damaged for vampire habitation. The leaping beasts had punched holes mostly in the upper stories, the location of which did the vampires no favors. They prioritized areas of the castle that could be repaired with minimal effort and could be easily defended. She could not, however, offer comfort or repair to wounded spirits. She was fairly certain that the lycans wouldn't follow up. _They must know that they no longer have surprise – perhaps they will leave us be._ Also, if the lycans aimed to stop the vampire attacks to the north, they'd succeeded, at least while the vampires preoccupied themselves with rescuing their orphans.

At nightfall, she planned to deploy the watchers to learn for certain whether the lycans aimed to attack again and do even more damage. Perhaps her and Michael's eyes could assist, after all, their daysuited brethren who searched futilely for Xavier and Léna.

Oscar wouldn't have beckoned her if it weren't something serious, and so Selene approached her destination with some trepidation. "What is this about?" she asked him as they reached the bottom floor of the castle and proceeded in the direction of the kitchen.

"I was asked to bring you here," was all he said, with his normal placid, businesslike manner overshadowed by uncharacteristic creases of worry on his face.

They entered to find three other mortals attending to meal preparation – even in this time of upset. _I suppose it's the only thing they can do._ In a corner, perched on a stool, leaning over to contemplate the floor, sat Claire. Selene stopped while Oscar continued on and approached Claire. She noticed him then, and looked up to reveal a countenance that betrayed a lack of sleep and an oversupply of tears.

Claire stood and rested a dirty hand on a cast-iron lever to a hatch in the back of what looked like a chimney. "She asked for you," she said, and then opened it.

A blanket-wrapped figure stepped out and stood, but before the blanket dropped away, Selene knew who it probably was. _Léna._ She still wore the same clothes that Selene had seen when she'd briefly glimpsed her during the mêlée in the corridor outside her state room. Ash and dust coated a good bit of the clothing and tears had washed clear paths down her dirty face. Selene scarcely recognized her.

"You were protecting her?" Selene said to Claire.

"Her mother has been good to mortals," Oscar interjected behind her. "But she insisted that she face consequences."

"I've done something," Léna said while fighting off a convulsing sob.

"I know," answered Selene, realizing what she was admitting to – it could be nothing else.

"I'm sorry," Léna said, with a bit more strength in her voice.

Selene made no response, but watched as sadness, panic, horror, and anger took turns contorting Léna's face. _I'm not sure she's really sorry... and I'm not sure I am, either._

Léna's face twisted again, this time into rage. Then, just as quickly, her eyes betrayed fear as they focused on Selene.

Selene turned to Oscar. "Find Laudro and Luz. We should get her upstairs – we'll put her someplace where she can't hear Magyar. That should settle her down. And she needs blood."

Léna's mood turned on a dime. "This is _my_ home and I won't be put away as if in a zoo," she hissed as Oscar departed.

"You will if you want to live," Selene snapped back at her.

"What then?"

Selene half sighed. "Convene Council, I suppose. We'll have to try you for murder. Viktor would appreciate that, wouldn't he?" She immediately regretted the comment, but it probably wouldn't have come out any other way than sarcastic. It wasn't in their best interest to antagonize her. She didn't know exactly what had driven Léna to apparently kill Lord Víg, but she didn't care to take up that issue.

"And if I'm convicted, the penalty is?"

"If you're lucky, you'll be banished. It's not like there isn't a precedent. Come on," she said. _My Lady._

As they walked to the nearest stairwell, Selene paused for a moment and opened a connection on her walkie-talkie.

 _"Florian,"_ a voice barked back to her.

"I've found Léna," she said. A short distance away, Léna gave her a cold and not altogether sane stare.

_"Where?"_

"In the kitchen. The mortals were hiding her."

_"Interesting."_

"I need you to break the news to Orbán, but I want to get her upstairs first."

_"Where are you putting her?"_

"Lord Víg's suite." Selene kept her eyes on Léna. "We need to post some guards so Orbán and others don't try to kill her."

_"Damn. Why don't we take her to Gellért mansion or someplace else?"_

"Selene's going to tell you that a fortress is needed to contain me," Léna blurted out. She glanced sideways to Claire who stared at her feet, waiting for the conversation to end. "I'm not sure it's possible," she added softly.

Selene cut the connection to Florian abruptly. "You clearly have no conception of what kind of problem you've caused here," she said, voice rising.

"Oh?"

"With the Elders dead, _yes, dead,_ I thought we'd entered an age where gratuitous violence wasn't going to be used to settle disputes."

"I would've thought that I had an ally in you and you'd be more supportive. I didn't insist that _you_ be brought to justice for..."

"I cannot be bought, Lady Léna, and especially not for cheap. Now, I appreciate your gesture, but you still have no license to kill indiscriminately..."

"I was not indiscriminate!"

"... _Especially_ when it causes divisions in the coven. Even though my instinct is to ally with you, I cannot – because I believe, and _you made me believe_ – in the unity of the coven."

"Ladies," Claire interrupted, softly. Both of the other women turned their attention to her. She turned to Léna and said, "My Lady, you are in need of new clothes, rest, and a bath. May I attend to you?"

Léna gave Selene a sideways, cold stare and then wordlessly walked to the stairwell, with Claire close on her heels. After a short time, Selene joined them on the journey upward, peering vigilantly out of doorways from the south stair into interstitial floors to be sure Orbán hadn't caught wind of them and had moved to intercept.

In time, they reached Lord Víg's suite, already guarded by a very pained looking Luz. If Léna's features softened at all at the sight of the Kollárista, Selene didn't notice. "Where are the others?" she asked imperiously.

Selene raised an eyebrow. "Out looking for you and Xavier."

"Xavier?"

"He's been kidnapped by the lycans."

Her eyes did soften at that.

  
\--0--  
  
  
As Léna stepped into the bath, she noted her reflection and paused in thanks that the rippling water softened what she assumed was a frightful expression – if Claire's look was any indication. She immersed herself up to her neck and then briefly submerged her head to wet her hair. She felt, or imagined, truthfully, the last night and a half of external and internal grit rinse away. Claire approached furtively, worry on her face now, instead of alarm. Léna made eye contact and then dropped it back to the swimming image in the water. "Thank you for all that you do," she said to Claire and then looked back up.

"I am now, as I have been since you arrived, honored to be in your service," she responded almost in monotone, retrieving a cloth and adding soap to it.

Léna closed her eyes and blanked her mind to all but the soothing sensation of water.

"Water is good for you, My Lady," Claire added softly, but the water's surface just below her ears magnified it.

"Yes, I think that it is."

"What will you do, now?"

"I must submit to a trial by Council," she whispered. "I may not survive it if found guilty. I may likely plead guilty and have it over and done with." She watched Claire's mouth go slack with grief, though striving not to show her upset.

"Perhaps Treva will spirit you away. We know secret ways in and out of the castle..."

"As do I, but I have not been here in quite a time." Léna paused in thought and continued. "I cannot run, for they will catch up to me. I will bring destruction upon the American coven if I flee there. To avoid this, they may confine me and return me here. I simply cannot run and I won't run."

"You are very brave."

"But I am short-sighted... as I am. It would've been better to let Lord Víg live and to work with him for change... as my mother would have wanted."

"So why did you kill him?" Claire asked firmly.

Léna's eyes went out of focus, and then she tracked Claire's again. "For the death of my mother and betraying the coven – to the lycans."

"I am confused, My Lady."

Léna relaxed in silence for several moments. "So am I," she said.

"Did you give no consideration for yourself?"

"No. The elders spoke and they know only impunity."

Somebody entered the suite and spoke to Laudro in English, but she could only make out a few words from her vantage in the tub, in the bathroom, off the bedchamber, which in turn was off the multi-room suite where Víg had once lived. After a few moments, Laudro entered the bedchamber and called to Claire.

"It's alright, Claire, if he comes in."

Claire looked at her in slight surprise and then left to usher him in. He stood in the doorway with concern on his face, which, considering their circumstances of late, wasn't altogether surprising. "What is it?" she asked him in English.

"That was a man named Henrik."

"A death dealer from here."

"Of course. He's delivered a message from Orbán. You've been challenged to, essentially, a duel."

"When?"

"1200, in the basement."

Léna rose, abruptly, not caring what he saw. All that she knew was that Orbán, a moderately skilled warrior of the castle, had just challenged an Elder. She would have none of it. It was certainly his right legally, but very improper and presumptuous of him. For a brief moment she wondered why Claire unceremoniously shoved Laudro out of the bathroom and slammed the door. Soon after, Claire fetched a towel and dutifully wrapped her in it.

  
\--0--  
  
  
With the solid lead provided by Michael, Ádám and Treva armed themselves appropriately for the daylight investigation – or possible raid – on the residence where the vehicle belonged. Michael joined Selene in Florian's Audi while the Brazilians set out on a Honda motorcycle.

Their destination turned out to be in an agricultural area on the outskirts of Kosd, which lay in the postal zone of Vác. After locating the driveway, they proceeded onward and parked some 400 meters away beyond it, just before the road ended beyond the croplands. It was no use to advertise their presence to lycans who might be coming back from town.

They jumped a fence bordering a field and set off diagonally across it, approaching the collection of farm buildings that were their target. Ádám and Treva, optimistically, had shrugged spare daysuit and helmet packs onto their backs in case they found survivors. They arrived at the main farmhouse from the northwest and crossed the driveway under cover of tractors, cars, trees, and discarded equipment. They'd approached stealthily, but their odor must have carried into the interior of the house. The occupants raised an alarm and soon a figure appeared in an upper story window with a machine gun cradled in his arms.

Selene looked to her left, where Ádám had taken cover behind a subcompact. Bullets hailed down on them from windows in the upper stories, cutting paths through cedars standing sentry over the front of the farm house. Behind one of the trunks lurked Treva, a jet black figure with an oversize head, reflecting sunlight on its shiny surface. There, she prepared to make a run for the side of the house. "What do you see, Treva?" she asked in Magyar.

 _"I don't see any action on the right side,"_ Treva replied.

"Do you see Michael?"

 _"Não."_ Michael had gone around the left side of the house to wreak havoc. He'd come armed, against his Hippocratic Oath, but had shed the gun and his shirt once the shooting started. He'd also worn a microphone, but was now incommunicado. _"I'm going around back,"_ said Treva into Selene's ear. Treva sprinted around copious bushes and disappeared from view.

A lycan crashed through a window, sailed through the air toward them, and then impacted on the drive. _"Cover me, Selene!"_ said Ádám. He stood and emptied half a clip into the lycan while Selene aimed her Walthers at the remaining lycan above them.

"Your turn, Ádám. I'm going in the front."

Ádám remained standing, firing additional bursts at the same lycan.

As Selene reached the front step at a dead run, she heard Ádám say, _"Got him, I think."_ The firing ceased and Selene splintered the front door. A lycan didn't react fast enough and she gave him a half-clip. "Come in, Ádám!" she shouted as she dropped to the floor to reload. Ádám arrived in two seconds as Selene rammed the second loaded clip home. He exchanged his own clips. She heard an auto approaching the home along the long driveway. "Shit!" she spat. "We're going to have company."

A stream of Portuguese sounded in Selene's ear. _"Treva's wondering what's going on,"_ said Ádám.

"Where is she?"

 _"In the basement,"_ he responded.

Michael appeared in the stairwell and glowered down at them in the front room.

"Where are they, Michael?"

Michael bared his teeth in response. He then lurched down to the bottom of the stair and crossed into an adjacent room, his dark silhouette in stark contrast to the worn whitewash of the walls.

Selene moved to the front window and peeked out. "I guess we didn't pick up that dead lycan."

 _"Let's go out and get them,"_ said Ádám. Before Selene could react, he headed back out via the destroyed front door. Selene went out the window and charged the approaching car. The car contained three beings, perhaps lycans, perhaps not, but it didn't matter. Out of the corner of her left eye, Ádám bore down on the vehicle and brought his pistols up. The car accelerated and banked right to avoid the attacking vampires. A gun appeared in one rolled-down window. Another occupant pressed a cell phone to his ear. Selene drew faster and got her lycan. The departing car slung gravel everywhere. Ádám's bullets and body gave chase.

"You stay here! I'll get them," said Selene.

Ádám broke off and began jogging back to the farm house. The lycans gunned the engine and Selene leapt onto the trunk. She swung with her elbow and then dropped in through the back window. The driver hit the brakes, but it was too late. She fired point blank into his skull. The car lurched off the road to the side and impacted on a tree, splintering it. Selene became airborne and somersaulted into the dashboard. She righted herself and came face to face with a dead lycan with a bloody exit wound in his face. She heaved him off her and began to extricate herself from the collapsed vehicle.

Once out, she holstered her pistols and jogged back to the farm house as a light snow began to fall. As the house came into view, it provided her with a gift: the silhouette of Michael, back in human form. "We found them. A vampire named Tamara is with Xavier."

"Excellent. You and your lycan nose found them," Selene replied. Tamara had been missing and presumed killed.

"Yeah. Arf, arf."

"How are they?"

"They're fine – stored according to manufacturer specifications. Treva and Ádám are suiting them up, now."

Selene turned to her microphone. "Ádám, let's be quick about it. We might have more company, soon."

_"They're a little crispy. They got some sun when we found them. It looks like there's a workshop in here where they might have manufactured and tested those coils – perhaps tested them on Xavier and Tamara."_

"We'll keep an eye out topside. Does everything still smell all right, Michael?"

_"We'll be up in a minute."_

Michael tapped the side of his nose and gave her a thumbs-up. "I need to start packing extra shirts."

Selene pointed to the ground. "How about a lycan shirt?"

"Filthy bastards," he responded.

A minute later, Ádám appeared behind them. Selene turned and addressed her reflection in the visor of the black motorcycle helmet atop his daysuit. "If you can make these bulletproof, it'll put the fear of God into the lycans," she said.

 _"This snow will give us some cover,"_ said Ádám.

The remainder of the suited-up vampires left the house and joined them. "Let's go find a motorcycle," said Selene. They set off across open fields at a jog, occasionally stopping to negotiate fences and hedges. Eventually they came to a county road where the Audi and the motorcycle sat in wait. As Ádám and Treva mounted the motorcycle and headed off, Selene turned to Tamara and Xavier. "How are you feeling?"

Tamara looked toward Xavier who nodded. _"I'm all right,"_ she said into Selene's ear.

"All right, get in the back and get down." Selene put the car in gear and headed after the motorcycle.

  
\--0--  
  
  
These sorts of things tended to be self-regulating, often taking place far from his immediate knowledge. The last that Florian knew of, on the record, had been an incident, though fortunately non-life threatening, between Selene and Soren. An obscure covenant permitted a settling of accounts in this fashion, bypassing a laborious, lengthy, and ironically messier procedure in the presence of Council. Taking the long way, though, very often led to a similar result – the vampire committing the infraction wound up dead.

He'd been approached by the agents of both parties, Henrik and Laudro, to officiate. Long regarded as impartial, he'd made for a logical choice, or so he'd been told. Silently, Florian nevertheless hoped that she would survive. It wouldn't do to have more deaths among them, especially a vampire as important as Léna. All understood the terms. Léna would, it seemed, accept the judgment of death should it come to her. Her survival at the expense of Orbán would add insult to injury to Lord Víg's loyalists, but they were likewise bound should that result come to pass.

Léna entered the room and negotiated the ring by maneuvering the enormous blade of Halldór before her in gloved hands. Orbán, already present, had selected one of Lord Víg's vampire swords. If Léna could move quickly with her father's sword, she might be able to match Orbán in his centuries of experience. Florian could remember when Halldór, with his fists, had defeated András, Orbán's predecessor as captain of the castle, over three centuries ago. At the time, it hadn't been a fight to the death, but two vampires testing each other. András had insulted Halldór to precipitate the confrontation, but in the end had escaped with a dislocated shoulder and his pride bruised otherwise. Lycans had finished both off later.

Any doubt that the memories of the Elders fully possessed her now vanished at the sight of her. She'd obtained a Corset – as Amelia it would be the proper thing to wear. It looked ridiculous on her at first glance, wrapped on top of workout pants and a tank top. A death dealer in it she certainly was not, but the getup combined with the immense blade suggested that Léna meant business. Not only that, but her eyes, usually focused and penetrating into any receiver, now shimmered in cerulean blue, considered something far away – or far within, more likely.

The Kolláristas, except for Luz, remained conveniently out of the castle, looking for Xavier. Either they hadn't been told that Léna had been challenged to a duel or they preferred to look for Xavier. Luz and several others in the gathering watched in silent, tense expectation while still others, mainly citizens of Castle Víg, chattered excitedly amongst themselves. Florian, along with his enforcer Kou, kept silent. Selene, also steadfast in maintaining neutrality, did not attend this spectacle. She'd found other, more important things to do with her time – riding out with the search teams.

Orbán, usually soft-spoken for a death dealer, entered the ring and immediately began taunting Léna. "I don't know what you are, but whatever you are, you can't just waltz in here, take over, start killing people, especially my Lord who lived over six centuries and built something great," he said, indicating the walls and ceiling around them.

"I turned your master's father and I turned you," said Léna, from a far away place.

"No you didn't. Your pretty lips have been nowhere near me."

"You _were_ turned by me," Léna insisted, "and it is my right to _un_ turn you. You, defender of your Lord who communed with Lord Kraven, killer of Elders..."

"This isn't about Lord Víg. It's about keeping control of the castle out of the grubby hands of plotting nobles and bean counters such as yourself." He pointed an accusing blade at her.

"You are a traitor to your kind," Léna whispered in a paper-dry voice.

Orbán's sword came downward with a crash against Léna's upraised implement. He whirled and slashed, again and again, attacking from seemingly several angles at once. Léna took the punishment, blocking each blow with the long, curved slab of metal. Spin and slash. Spin and slash. She made no immediate move to counterattack.

Florian wasn't sure she had it in her. Despite her long, found memory, she remained an amateur at fighting. He noted the positioning of her feet and the attitude of her blade. She had the mind of a fighter, but the body of, as Orbán said, a merchant.

Suddenly, the immense blade flashed in a wide arc. She'd timed her response between his swings. It came around, one handed, and had he not sprung out of the way of its reach, he would've been hacked in half. So many times Florian had seen it swung by Halldór and known the damage it could do. The momentum carried her in a circle, and then she, too, sprang backward to avoid Orbán's riposte. She brought her blade back up to a defensive position and again stood her ground while Orbán thrust and slashed.

Orbán decided to pace himself, then, and settle in for a long battle. He broke for more taunts. "This isn't jai-alai, girl! This isn't a game!" he shouted at the world.

She lunged forward with the blade held crosswise in her gloved hands, forcing him back into a stagger. "I'm not playing," she hissed. He recovered and began to circle her slowly, feinting and thrusting to test her reactions.

She timed him again and brought her sword straight down. Orbán blocked it with his own sword, but her advantage in momentum destabilized his balance. She took advantage of his extra effort by kicking into his lead knee, staggering him. She pushed with the sword, forcing him back. He righted himself in the corner and then sprung head over heels to the other side of her to begin his assault anew. Léna growled as one thrust landed on her left arm, opening a gash. She responded by slicing downward again, but this time Orbán sprang to the side as her sword splintered the deck with a ragged thump. He made a move to put his boot on the lodged sword, but he was met with a boot to the chest.

She pulled it free and faced him again. She took a two-handed half swing at him and he took the opportunity to block and then push with his own sword. She let go with her right hand and struck a glancing and ineffectual blow on his face with her fist. He shoved her back with his sword crosswise with hers. She made a move to drop and pitch him over her, but instead, he grasped her hilt hand in his left and mashed downward on the point end of her sword with his own. She lost her balance and wound up with her own sword at her neck, fully under his control.

He pinned her to the deck with her father's blade resting on her collarbone, edge facing her chin. He had but to shift his weight and the blade would slide forward, slicing her head off. He took some time to gloat at his victory. He sat upon her trunk with boots at either side of her ribcage, arms flexed wide, and hands positioned on either end of the blade. As Florian looked on, he could see tears streaming downward from the corners of Léna's eyes, which had returned to hazel. They earnestly tracked Orbán's as if to try and stare him down one last time. She appeared to finally be aware of her dire situation in the here and now.

 _And so, there it is: defeat,_ Florian thought. Her hands had come free of the blade and she lay fully defensive, perhaps in a last-ditch effort to engender his sympathy and walk away alive.

"Is this how you killed my master, as he lay defenseless and possibly pleading? It must be, because you are no fighter. You say you have fought an Elder, but matching wits will only take you so far."

 _"Death! Death! Death!"_ chanted the crowd.

"Killing me will not make you Selene," she whispered under the roar.

"No, only in your Elder-addled mind do you imagine that. Perhaps I will let you live and achieve something greater. I let you live, and you support me in Council to retain control of this castle," he whispered down at her. He bent very close to her face, so close that he lost the sight of her right hand in his shifting peripheral vision. Florian hadn't, and neither hadn't the crowd, who bellowed in disapproval.

 _He wants her to live,_ Florian realized. _He wants to use her like Víg tried to. He's nothing without her._ He watched as she fished an object out of her pants pocket and gathered it into her fist. Florian glanced toward Kou and then back to the unsavory characters fighting to the death before them all. _She is in possession of the memories of madmen. He is too young and inexperienced to run a castle. Only one may win, but neither deserved it. Which one would wreak the least havoc if allowed to live? Could he choose? Was he not a defender of the coven?_ He found himself looking back at Kou who nodded back at him. He crept into the ring and put his boot on her wrist before she could skewer her foe.

He leaned down and pulled a meat carving fork out of her hand, making contact with her withering glare. Orbán looked up at him quizzically and Florian responded by planting the fork in the back of his skull.

Orbán's head jerked forward and he released his grip on the sword poised above Léna's neck. Freed, she rose to standing and threw him backward so he lay on his back, convulsing, with his eyes cycling back and forth from brown to sky blue. He reached behind his left ear with a shaking hand, gripped the implement, and yanked it free. He held it up in front of him and stared at it as if struggling to comprehend what had happened to him. She hefted her father's blade and turned back to him. "Kneel!" she thundered.

Slowly, Orbán assumed the position, fork still in his hand. Blood streamed from the wound in his head. Tears streamed from Léna's eyes anew. She raised her sword above her head and held it there, breathing heavily through jutting jaw. She glanced at Florian while the crowd howled. Then she brought it down – point first into the thick timbers of the deck between his knees, upright and mere inches from his face.

The crowd gasped and then roared in fury. Florian turned at the waist and quieted them with a look. "Anybody have a problem?" he barked. Inwardly, he thanked the memory of Amelia that Léna had decided to be merciful. _Amelia would not have been so._

After depositing her father's sword in front of Orbán, she turned and walked generally in the direction of the ringside, where Luz met her and spoke to her in Portuguese. They left the ring and shouldered their way quickly through the crowd as several swarmed toward Orbán to assist him.

  
\--0--  
  
  
Léna dozed as they drove, despite the novelty of the daysuit. She, Laudro, and Luz, dressed alike, crammed into the back seat of the limousine while Oscar drove and Claire rode in the passenger seat.

Beside her, Luz chattered away with Treva, who'd informed them that they'd found Xavier along with another vampire called Tamara. Despite the good news, Léna remained glum – perhaps seeing him would cheer her. She felt more relief, if truth be told, that her jet would soon carry her from Hungarian soil. The Elders had come within a sword's slip of dying again – Orbán would've been the one to do Xavier's work. For her, for Orbán, for the rest of them, the time had come to _live_.

The daysuits granted them safe passage from Castle Víg to a basement safe house in Budapest. No vampires could pursue them there and their successful retreat to Brazilian shores was assured. Once inside, they discarded their suits and looked at each other under different light and circumstances. Léna felt oddly shrunken – she hadn't realized how much of the Elders' blood pulsed within her at the very end until the memories' ebb. She didn't know who she was.

A shadow crossed her vision and she looked up to see Claire looking on. "You look defeated, My Lady, but you do not run."

Léna looked down and said, "I do not recall why I shouldn't run." Then she straightened. "You know, I never ran to begin with." For some reason, her mind traveled back to the memory of her mother's last days with her – bidding farewell in Greece. She would pick up the strand there, and move on.

A half day after the mortals delivered them to safety, Selene and Michael arrived along with three other, black vinyl and helmeted vampires. After they sealed themselves in, they began to take off their daysuits, revealing Xavier and Treva. Tamara, appearing as disheveled as Xavier, removed only her helmet. Selene began issuing instructions in the midst of the stripping. "When you leave here after dark, you will see a sign directing you to the metro. Take the M3 to Kőbánya-Kispest Station and then take the Number 93 bus. It'll take you straight to the airport. Here's your satellite."

Léna took the proffered phone. "You're turning us out, you know. That's bad manners," said Léna in jest, but it came out as tired sarcasm.

"You're in a safe house, aren't you?" parried Selene.

As Léna considered an answer, she noticed that Ádám hadn't surrendered his Honda keys or taken off his daysuit. "You're staying?" she said to him.

Ádám pointed to his ear. She picked up the headset that she'd discarded with her helmet. _"I've business to attend to at my father's estate,"_ he said into her earpiece.

Léna looked back into his faceplate, questioning. _I can't even look into your eyes before I leave._ In the faceplate, she saw instead the reflection of Xavier standing behind her.

 _"You won't miss me and neither will the lycans,"_ he added.

Léna turned back to Selene, who reserved comment. She seemed to hesitate, and then what she did next made Léna draw breath in surprise. "Rise, Selene," Léna said.

Selene stayed put and looked up at her. "What you did to my family was inexcusable, but I hold on to the hope that some good may yet come of it." After she forced the words out, she stood, put a hand on Michael's shoulder, and began to usher her party out.

 _Indeed,_ Léna thought. _Forgive? Maybe. Forget? Never._

"We'll leave the daysuits," said Treva.

Selene, Michael, Tamara, and Ádám entered the light lock. "Tchau," Selene said over her shoulder as she put on her sunglasses. With a swish of her bangs, she was gone.


	16. The Powerful Present

**_June 20, 2006_**  
  
A child in ponytails ran toward her on the beach, ignoring the hazards of rocks and shells.

"Máli, not so fast!" Léna called out.

"I try to tell her, but maybe she doesn't understand the Magyar," said Claire. She walked up to join mother holding child. She smiled, exposing vampire canines, and then reflexively and self-consciously closed her lips over them.

"You know I can teach you Portuguese and you'll never forget," said Léna. Máli ran off again along the darkened beach of Represa Atibainha. To her right and to the southwest, the glow of São Paulo reflected off the clouds. Elsewhere the sky swaddled the moon in glowing cloud.

As Léna gazed at the hazy moon spot, she thought about the secrets that she and Claire shared and what secrets would be passed to Máli. She would likely know the memory of the Elders. By blood, it was possible she was a Víg, but by upbringing, she was Kollár. As far as anybody was concerned, Xavier was her father.

He appeared then, out in the water. The lake cascaded off him, slicking back his brown hair. He came to shore and met an exuberant toddler. "Daddy! Daddy!" she said, running toward him. He scooped her up and spun her around.

 _He got his wish and I have my memory,_ Léna thought.

  
\--0--  
  
  
 _We live in relative tranquility, as stable as the water's surface. The Kolláristas protect us from all who would approach us with malicious intent. We are separate from the Old World coven, for our safety and for theirs, because of what stirs below the surface when memories are awakened. At the moment we remain: none awake, three asleep._

_We've walked in history, but we do not, as Viktor has said, have all of the time in the world. We vampires, who have the wisdom of history and can envision the future, have a special responsibility to the world around us. The train is empty. The chain of history is broken. We will soar or we will fall – sky above, earth below, past behind, and horizon ahead._

"Look to the future and that's where I will be." _– Amelia_


	17. Re/vision (Epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an optional chapter. It's partly a response to folks who wonder why Amelia didn't fight hard enough on the train. It also makes Dmitri's speech strangely prophetic.

**_February 8, 2007_**  
  
She didn't expect them so soon. She tried to deny them, busying herself instead with communications and checklists. Then, as she took control of the throttle from her copilot and accelerated down the runway, she couldn't ignore her company. _Ghosts._ At least, that's what her mind rendered the sensation as.

The throttle fit her hand so well that she wondered why she'd scarcely flown since returning from Hungary almost five years ago. She felt a tingle at her neck as she thought about the cargo that she'd carried back then. Along with her mother, there had been Councilor Lemos, Councilor Conti, and Dmitri – all of them in this very Gulfstream. None of them had returned save she. Both the cabin, and her soul, weren't quite as full for this trip – just Treva and Eduardo, two of her mother's former guardians, accompanied her. She knew exactly who she carried, but still she found it hard to resist the urge to look behind her in search of assurance that her mother was really not there.

As she took the controls, her routine, her concentration, and her _mind_ threatened to be distracted by the ghosts. She guided the big machine down the runway just the same, feeling the familiar bumps and ripples of the surface as she gained speed. The view unfolded before her as she expected. _Here we come._ The air caught her and bore her upward, as if on wings of flesh. _For a moment, I am Marcus,_ she thought. The flickering lights and status LCDs of the cabin merged with the glittering galaxy of São Paulo. After a time, the metropolis gave way to the everlasting sameness of darkened sky above and ocean below.

Léna and her passengers now embarked on a new mission, this time not to deliver, but to bring back. As the only coven with a fleet of private jets at their disposal, they needn't put their trust in the postal delivery system and the attendant exposure risk. Léna, however, still needed convincing to return to Hungary, where her pasts would be waiting for her. She had no stomach for revisiting either ancient history or comparatively recent history.

She disguised her movements by adjusting her earpiece and microphone and then stole a look behind her. The cabin remained just as it had been when they took off from Guarulhos. Treva read, curled up in her seat with knees up in the air. She glanced up at Léna as she looked back. Eduardo probably dozed farther back, out of her immediate view.

"Everything okay back there?" said Miyahara, her mortal copilot, seated next to her.

"Appears so," she said, covering herself. He was one of a number of trusted, loyal, and invaluable mortal souls in the employ, in some form or another, of the coven. They formed part of the much-needed interface with the mortal world and the vampires showed their appreciation. Their oaths in service, however, were no less binding than any vampire's.

"Rest, if you want. I'll handle things up here."

"Thanks. Let me know when you want to be relieved," she responded.

"Aye," said the mortal.

"...and I can fly us into Budapest. I've done it before."

"I'll let you know when the sun goes back down," he reassured.

She touched his arm as she got up. On her way back into the cabin, she recalled the phone conversation that summoned her from her own coven. It had struck unexpectedly, from the air, like a thunderclap. The effect had been an almost imperceptible stirring within her...

_"Lady Léna?"_

_"Yes?"_

_"Lady Léna, this is Selene."_

_"You don't have to call me that. What can I do..."_

_"I'm sorry. Léna, we've found something that we think you should see."_

_"Yes?"_

_"It's in some books. Do you know the name Andreas Tanis?"_

_"Of course."_

_"He had some writings..."_

_"In Castle Víg?"_

_"No, where he was living in exile. He..."_

_"Weren't they cleaned out?"_

_"May I talk, please?"_

_"Of course."_

_"When he was in exile, he continued to write."_

_"I recall he had some incriminating journals."_

_"Yes. He was quite busy, actually. He had connections within the coven and with the lycans, even from exile. He even had contact with your mother. Not directly, but through intermediaries."_

_"Resourceful."_

_"There is some... history here that you might like to have... to fill in some gaps, perhaps."_

_"I'll send Lord Dömötör or another envoy."_

_"You should see it personally. What we found is so compelling... that we should look at it together and get your interpretation – for lack of better words."_

_"Again, why can't I just send..."_

_"It has to do with your mother's death. It looks like Tanis was involved. He had contact with Lord Kraven and the lycans."_

_(silence)_

_"Not only that..."_

_"Yes?"_

_"It... You have to come."_

_"Traveling from South America just isn't done on a whim, especially for someone like me."_

_"You'll want to see this."_

_"How are things there?"_

_"We're... just like we've been."_

_"No problems? Because I'm thinking about who I should bring."_

_"Bring everybody – you might as well. Ádám is already here, of course."_

_"Everybody..."_

  
\--0--  
  
  
 _The easy part was getting her on the plane,_ thought Selene. She congratulated herself on the timing, as well. Michael didn't have duty for the weekend and could participate in the meeting. She hoped his unique services would not be needed, but it would be good to have him there nonetheless.

Selene brought the biggest muscles of the coven that she could find, at the suggestion of Lord Florian. While no outward animosity existed between the covens, they agreed that showing up without armed escorts wouldn't be prudent, especially since Léna would most likely bring Kolláristas. She tapped Kou to come as well – he was somebody that both Léna and her mother knew and had trusted, being an original death dealer in the service of the coven for upwards of 450 years. Ádám also requested to attend. Štefan, of course, had to come.

Selene's Audi, Ádám's Valkyrie, and Léna's rented Mercedes arrived within minutes of each other. As they hosted, Selene's group entered the bank first. The mortal manager indicated a large metal tray on a marble table just inside the entry into the lobby. He served as an impromptu God and truce would be in effect during the meeting. The bare hands of that banker had more say than the collection of hand-held weapons that the vampires brought, concealed, with them. They dutifully deposited their pistols, knives, and paraphernalia into the tray. What the banker didn't know was that the vampires' bare hands, enemies of bone and skull, could kill easily – especially Ádám, Kou, and the recently arrived Eduardo in Léna's party.

After a short time in the secure room in wait, the Brazilians processed in. Treva, the walking stick, came first, followed by the thick-armed pugilist, Eduardo. Lastly came Léna herself, clopping in wearing a navy dress with heels that cradled her calves in twin helixes of black and silver, all partially shrouded within a black coat.

Her attention went immediately to Ádám, standing to Selene's left. "Ádám, good to see you. I understand it is now officially Lord Tóni, correct?"

" _Ádám_ will suffice, Léna. How is Máli?"

"Good." Léna looked pointedly at his casual dress. "Shouldn't you be wearing a suit?"

Ádám looked her up and down. "Got any extra?"

Léna smiled at him and then turned her attention to Selene – her smile falling abruptly.

Léna appeared about as ambivalent about her as she felt about Léna. She represented something that should be dead. She contained an odd mix of collective past and future, cut off from the European coven to continue the new course in the New World.

The book resting on the raised table between them drew her eyes away from Selene's. She tilted her head and then laid her fingers across the hardbound cover, flaking and turning to dust at the edges. She looked behind Selene at the gaping vault and the opened safety deposit box nearby. She tapped the book. "Is this for me?" she asked of Selene.

"What is inside – yes – perhaps for you only."

Léna opened the cover and read the Latin written on the front page: _Property of Andreas Tanis, 1885._ Then she closed it with a stout snap. "Why should I believe what's written within this volume?"

Ádám shifted his feet.

Selene realized this was going to be a tougher sell than she'd thought. She set her jaw and folded her arms. "Whether you believe it or not, what's in this book is significant – and it pertains to your mother."

"Tanis' writings were a danger to the coven. That's why he was exiled."

"Dangerous because they were _true,_ " Selene said emphatically. "Doesn't what you've found out since confirm it? There's no use denying it."

Léna kept her gaze steady, but her finger shook as it rested on the book. Selene wondered if anybody else noticed. "Is this all of his writings?" she suddenly asked.

"Not all. In Tanis' things, we found a key that led us here. We brought the rest of the books and archived them here, just in case."

"Just in case?"

"In case somebody wanted to read them."

"Aren't they the property of the coven?"

"Yes they are, but given the history of Tanis' writings, we..."

"We?"

Selene looked at her a moment in thought. "...Lord Florian, the Council..."

"Go on."

"We thought it would be best if they were secured and somebody went through them to be sure they didn't contain any surprises."

"So you found a surprise?"

"Yes. The archivist who was assigned to catalog the holdings and examine the books identified a journal."

"A journal...," Léna repeated, looking past her. Léna would know that the last discovery of one of Tanis' journals caused his own exile, so incendiary were its contents.

"This one," Selene said, nodding to the tome in front of her. She then turned toward Štefan, the archivist. "Show her what you showed me."

Štefan came forward, opened the book, revealing pages of flowing script in Latin. Without the archivist, it would have been inscrutable to nearly everybody in the room. He said, "This section here begins, 'If you have found this, then I must be dead. Within are the plans and plots that likely have led to my death...'"

"I'm guessing he didn't predict that Marcus would kill him, correct?"

"No, that was totally random, of course. Nobody thought that Marcus would've become what he was... or that you and I would become what we are."

Léna suddenly exhaled a laugh out of her nose. "Tanis was quite the fetishist about recording things, wasn't he?"

"Yes," said Selene evenly.

"Yes," echoed Štefan, drawing their attention back to him. "Further on, he describes plans for the toppling... _and_ killing of an Elder, with the execution carried out on the night of Lady Amelia's arrival in Budapest."

Léna widened her eyes in surprise and then glanced back and forth between Štefan and Selene. "So Tanis was in league with Lord Kraven and Lucian? You told me that Tanis was in touch with both, possibly through others."

"We know that Tanis supplied the Lycans with UV rounds. Up until now, we didn't know the exact mechanism – we... I... just assumed that the lycans took care of him in exchange. That's what he told us," Selene added, glancing at Michael.

"Not exactly," Michael chimed in.

Selene pointed at him. "Right, he only said he did what he had to do to survive. Now, it says in this book that Lord Kraven delivered the rounds to Lucian and his pack."

"But why did Tanis do that?" Léna asked, face pinching in concentration. "Was it revenge for..."

"Partly. Viktor exiled him for good when his reign began 200 years ago. Tanis had no love for Viktor after that."

"But to do things that help kill your own kind..."

"Yes, but listen: the one that Tanis did love, it appears, was your mother."

"She must not have known, or it was something that became known to her after I was born."

"It wasn't romantic love. It was a love of her ideas and of what she represented." Under Léna's focused stare, she continued, "Tanis subscribed to your mother's vision for the vampires and he was willing to do anything to bring it about. Naturally she didn't publicize her desire for peace with the lycans. Tanis, however, knew of her wishes and so acted on his own to bring it about."

"By manufacturing the rounds?"

"To put the lycans on an equal footing with vampires, possibly to force the vampires to negotiate a peace."

"Which my mother had done off and on again through the centuries."

"Now, you must listen carefully to what I'm going to say next."

"Go on."

Selene took a deep breath, held it, and then plunged on ahead. "It states in Tanis' journal that your mother knew that Tanis supplied the rounds to the lycans and that Kraven allied with the lycans in order to topple Viktor. Your mother and Kraven were allies."

Léna turned away and paced about the room with her arms folded. She turned and looked pointedly at Treva and then around to Ádám. "But Kraven turned against my mother."

"Correct. Neither your mother nor Tanis knew Kraven planned to instead assassinate _all_ of the Elders and Council," said Selene. _She's taking this better than I thought she would._

Léna laughed again, quietly. "I remember when nobles used to come to her and ask to be executed. It's not like she couldn't kill another vampire." She turned and gave a lingering look at Kou. Kou nodded back to her.

Selene looked a question at him.

"We were equal-opportunity executioners back then," Kou said.

"The UV rounds served multiple purposes," said Michael. "Lucian used them as a means to end the conflict, Kraven used them as a means to seize power, and Tanis used them as a means to make his lifestyle a bit more comfortable."

" _And_ to satisfy my mother's wishes, it would seem," said Léna.

"Of peace," prompted Selene.

"Yes, strangely."

"But why did she trust Kraven?"

Léna looked at the floor, then back up at Selene, and shook her head. "That's a big mystery. Perhaps it's because Lord Viktor trusted him. Perhaps Lord Dömötör knows. They spent years talking to each other." Léna shrugged and sighed. "Maybe my mother has her own journal tucked away somewhere that will tell all."

"Wouldn't you know something?"

"The idea probably came to her after I was born. I know she wanted to change the way the coven operated and maybe she saw that as a way..."

"Rather extreme, don't you think?"

"Look, what do you want to know? Do you want to know if Tanis started everything? _That_ I can't answer. It sounds like my mother started everything, but I can't see her wanting Viktor to die. She didn't have it in her. It _does_ explain why she didn't want me with her when she returned here five years ago. I'm still not sure I believe any of it," she spat, slamming the book shut again. "I need some air," Léna suddenly said, and then abruptly sat in the nearest chair. She put her face in her hand and then looked pointedly at Ádám, once assured visage now collapsed in fright and panic.

Selene made eye contact with Ádám and then he reluctantly walked to Léna and took her by the arm.

"Don't you touch me... don't you touch me..." she said dazedly, but seemingly without the strength to throw him off. The Kolláristas gathered and hoisted her to her feet and ushered her out.

They half carried and half guided Léna to the street outside of the bank and sat her down in the rear seat of the Mercedes with her feet resting on the sidewalk. Her head lolled and then fell forward. "What's wrong?" Selene asked Ádám.

"She almost passed out – it happens under extreme stress. I think it's a combination of the flight, the news about her mother...," Ádám replied and paused.

"I imagine she's reliving all of that just now," Selene said.

"It's been almost five years, but memory, you know..."

"Ádám!" said Léna hoarsely from behind them. They both turned in the direction of the voice – its owner now wearing a face of anger. Her brows pinched together and her eyes flirted with blazing blue. Her lower lip protruded outward in defiance. "Let's cut the chit-chat. It's two hours to dawn. Is Tanis' safe house habitable? I don't think we want me in Castle Víg."

"Any other safe house?" asked Treva, eyeing Léna.

"Tanis' safe house can be made ready for you in short order," Selene replied, pulling out her cell phone. She turned away from them with a flourish of her trench coat and called the castle. _Yes, safe._


End file.
